


19.

by backdoor (symmetrophobic)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmates, based partially off jisung's lyrics for 19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23142619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/backdoor
Summary: “I want to meet him, hyung,” Jisung bites his lip, turning over too, so he’s facing Minho. Despite the calming smell of Minho’s room, the sea breeze candle he always uses, Jisung feels agitated. “I know it sounds dumb, but…think about it. Asoulmate. Someone I could love for the rest of my life. Think of all the songs I could write. That’sbig bucks.”Minho laughs, face cupped in his hands. Without makeup, under the ceiling light, he looks just as tired as he probably feels, but his pretty eyes still crinkle in the same way when he smiles. “Well, if you're so worried about it, why don’t we find out?”Jisung sits up. “How?”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin
Comments: 206
Kudos: 545





	1. 001.

**Author's Note:**

> **edited as of 23/9. please let me know if i missed any mentions, thank you.**
> 
> thank you for starting this fic!! just a note that the take on soulmates here is pretty different from the excellent stuff one usually finds on this site, but i hope you find it alright all the same! ;u;

The sky is blue on the day of Jisung’s fifteenth birthday.

The rays of sunlight filtering through the sky into the front porch glance off the floating dust motes, and he waves a hand, making them dance between his fingers, as he trails after Younghyun and Chan.

“This is the place?” Chan sounds surprised, staring at the humble, whitewashed walls and the homey exterior. “I thought it’d be more…you know. Fortune teller-y.”

Younghyun is Jisung’s oldest cousin in a small family, so he’s only a few years older than Chan is. He glances back with a crooked smile, as they toe their shoes off before stepping in. “Meaning?”

“Crystal balls, and dark and clothy, and spicy smelling, you know, the works,” Chan grins sheepishly, looking around. “This just feels like someone else’s house.”

“You’re talking like a foreigner, hyung,” Jisung wrinkles his nose. This is a familiar place for him by now – he’s been here almost once every few years since he was a child, just watching and waiting. And now, it’s finally his turn. “It’s all those years in Australia.”

Chan elbows him, smiling, and Younghyun rolls his eyes. Jisung can’t keep the spring out of his step, though – as the youngest grandchild, he’d heard all sorts of stories from his cousins about their time here. His parents were sticklers for tradition, though, and insisted on only letting him come here after his 15th, as was custom for all the children in their family.

Their teacher is an old man with thick glasses and a slight stoop despite the generally healthy pace to his walk, and he greets them cordially despite having seen Jisung and Younghyun multiple times over the past decade or so. Jitters are zipping through Jisung’s body as he follows him to a familiar, airy living room, almost scrambling to sit down on the brown and gold floor cushions on the warm floor.

As always, it starts like a conversation. Chan is, undoubtedly, impressed when the teacher casually asks him about the 7 years he’d spent in Sydney, and when he laughs and tells Chan not to worry when the boy asks dispiritedly about his dreams to be a producer. He talks to Younghyun too, telling him to take particular care with his mother’s health over the next month, and to enjoy his job.

“But I don’t have a job, _seonsaengnim_?”

“Not yet, Younghyun-ah,” the teacher nods contentedly, and out of the corner of his eye, Jisung sees Younghyun let out a barely-there sigh of relief. He’s a songwriter, and one of Jisung’s greatest inspirations, and it made him happy to know his cousin would soon be getting the recognition he deserved.

Jisung listens with rapt attention, going at great lengths to wait his turn. It’s difficult, considering his typical attention span, and how long he’s waited for this – even if it’s just a passing formality, a cheap thrill, like it had been to most of his cousins, he’s been waiting for it since forever.

“You are very patient,” the teacher finally turns to him, eyes twinkling. “It’s a behavior that’ll be rewarded in the future.”

They talk about some things from Jisung’s childhood – the long six-year move to Malaysia (where he’d nearly gotten eaten by a crocodile), a near death experience as a child involving a motorcycle (he’d had to get rescued by a couple of strangers, it’s a lot lamer than it sounds), and his lack of affinity with school but surprisingly good grades.

“Where will you be going for high school?”

“I don’t know, _seonsaengnim,_ ” Jisung says truthfully. He wanted to make his parents proud, but at the same time he loved the idea of being able to pursue music just like Chan and Younghyun. He wanted something that would reward him in the midst of a glorious upward climb. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“You say you are uncertain, but your heart is already set on where you want to go,” the teacher laughs. He takes a tangerine from the bowl in the centre of the table, peeling it deftly, and offering the others to the boys. “You think your ambitions will draw you away from your family?”

“I-…yes,” Jisung admits, a little ashamed. “I don’t want to leave my parents by themselves. My dad’s health hasn’t been great lately and my older brother’s getting really busy with work.”

“When you honour the order that life has set in place for you, life will honour you as well,” the old man continues calmly. “An opportunity will present itself, and you must hold on to it fast. You want to do music. Not only make it, but you want to perform it. And your patience and determination will reward you eventually.”

Now Jisung doesn’t exactly know what half of that means, but secretly, he hopes it’s the go-ahead he’d been waiting for.

“It’ll be a hard and arduous journey,” the teacher warns, still absently peeling the tangerine, and Jisung’s face falls. “For the next four years your life will be very difficult, but you will reap the fruits of your labour by your nineteenth birthday.”

“ _Nineteen_ _?_ That’s…a long time,” Jisung says gloomily, prodding at his tangerine. _Fifteen_ had been a uphill climb on its own, battling his grades and hobbies (the hobbies won), the two-man rap group he’d started with Chan (that just felt like it was missing something), coming out to his parents (which had actually been a lot less dramatic than he expected), and he wasn’t looking forward to an even tougher high school life.

“There will be little pleasures along the way, and your friends will keep you rooted,” the old man reassures him, passing another tangerine to Chan. “You will never be alone,” _that_ sinks some peace into Jisung’s soul – being in a large, noisy family has always left him feeling particularly bereft in times of solitude. But apparently, the teacher’s not done. “How is your boyfriend?”

Both Chan and Younghyun drop their tangerines.

“You have a _boyfriend?_ ” Chan gapes. “And you never _told_ me?”

“No, I do not, I don’t have a boyfriend,” Jisung splutters, trying to regain some control over the situation. “ _Seonsaengnim_ , you must be mistaken. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I don’t have enough game.”

Their teacher seems mildly surprised, but only mildly. He peers at Jisung over his thick rectangular glasses. “How strange. I felt it from you, the moment you first walked in here, six years ago. You have a soulmate. One of the rare few who do,” he smiles, a wistful kind of smile. “I was always waiting for the day you could be told. He is someone you can spend the rest of your life with. Someone you can lean on, who will in turn lean on you.”

“That…sounds nice and all, but,” Jisung blanches. “ _Seonsaengnim_ , why did you talk about him like I’ve already met him?”

The elderly man picks up another tangerine, speaking casually. “It is true. You already have.”

_I’ve…met my soulmate? But who-…?_

“It is funny that something so joyful should trouble you so much,” the old man smiles. “You shouldn’t worry about it,” he pauses, looking at Jisung some more. “I see that due to certain circumstances, your soulmate cannot tell you how he feels. But like I have said before, the troubled waters will smoothen over by the time your nineteenth birthday comes.”

*

It's an hour later when Jisung leans against the passenger side window on the drive back, watching his breath crystallise on the glass. His family is back home, preparing a cake for him, and now Jisung can't help but _think_.

Sure, the gloom and doom predictions over the next four years were a bummer, but the chance to do _music_! Just like Chan and Younghyun! And… as for his soulmate…

“Don’t get too hung up on what he said, Sungie,” Younghyun says after they drop Chan off at his place, one hand on the steering wheel as he checks the rearview mirror. “You know we just go there for fun. It’s sad that the others couldn’t make it this round – you’re the last of us kids, after all.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s tradition,” Jisung mumbles, before brightening. “I've made up my mind, though. I'm going to do music. I’ll tell my parents tonight.”

“Good for you. Things are going to work out, okay?” Younghyun pulls up into their apartment parking lot, looking over at Jisung with a grin. “I know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: this fic is based off a real life story by a friend of mine and lemme just say that a lot of this chapter sounded a lot cooler in our mother tongue 
> 
> if you'd like an idea of where this fic is going to go, quite a few bits of this were written to[ this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPGDV6SffNk) (eng trans can be found [ here](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/%E4%B8%80%E8%B7%AF%E4%B8%8A%E6%9C%89%E4%BD%A0-if-youre-there-journey.html)), but i promise this fic doesn't get too sad i promise angst isn't even tagged ! ! :-)


	2. 002.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is funny that something so joyful should trouble you so much,” the old man smiles. “You shouldn’t worry about it,” he pauses, looking at Jisung some more. 
> 
> “I see that due to certain circumstances, your soulmate cannot tell you how he feels. But like I have said before, the troubled waters will smoothen over by the time your nineteenth birthday comes.”

**four years later.**

Jisung hums as he saunters into the apartment, firing off a text to his mom about dinner this weekend. Then he tosses his phone onto the sofa, sighing loudly and throwing himself onto the cushions.

It’s a cozy studio apartment, just two rooms, a kitchenette and a toilet, with a small living area, and it’s home. His parents wanted him to stay close to the university so he wouldn’t have to travel back and forth all the time, and he didn’t want to burden them with the rent while they were already loaning him his tuition fees. The independence gives him just a bit of contentment, knowing this is at least one thing he can call his own.

Well, kind of.

“Well, well, well,” a figure looms sinisterly above him. “Look who finally decided to show up with my takeout.”

“It’s on the table,” Jisung finds himself trying to yawn and grin at the same time, and fails. “Shut up, the queue took forever.”

Lee Minho hefts him up like he’s a rag doll then, waltzing him over to the dinner table with a delighted noise. “Perfect. You’re the _best_ , Jisungie. What’d you get for yourself?” He pulls open the plastic bags, wrinkling his nose. “Fried chicken with rice again? You’re turning into Chan.”

“Hey, that’s _my_ fried chicken with rice you’re talking shit about,” Jisung swipes his food back, grabbing a pair of chopsticks from the bag. They settle down at the little collapsible table in front of the couch, usually preferring to eat here instead of in the kitchen so they can watch TV and laze around, procrastinating all their work. It’s one of the many little habits Jisung’s picked up ever since he started living here, with Minho.

It’d all started when he’d sort of moved in here with Chan in his junior year of high school, when his hyung offered him a room near his university and near Jisung’s school, where they could make music without bothering anyone. Then Chan had graduated, leaving Jisung with half of the rent that needed to be paid.

Chan had asked around, and so did Jisung – turns out, they had a mutual-ish friend, someone in the same dance crew as Felix, Chan’s friend from Australia, and Hyunjin, an old classmate of Jisung’s. Lee Minho was a good guy, Felix had said – a little quirky, with a strange sense of humour and devilishly pretty eyes, but a warm smile and a kind heart, and most importantly, he needed an apartment closer to his studio, where he taught dance professionally.

And then, not really knowing how, Jisung and Minho had sort of just clicked. It turned out they both watched the same dramas, craved the same takeout, had unearthly sleep cycles and fierce loyalty towards their friends. It’s probably the closest thing to a best friend someone could ever have, Jisung thinks happily.

“Look at you, criticising my fried chicken while you eat your,” Jisung sniffs disapprovingly. “ _Chicken stew noodles_.”

“Well _sorry_ I’d like to live the end of my days _without_ clogged arteries, thank you very much,” Minho opens the plastic box and sighs loudly. “ _Wow_ , this looks amazing.”

They eat dinner in peace, or at least as much peace as they can while Music Bank is playing on television, and they take turns criticising the choreography or poor production value of each comeback song until the program ends.

“You say that’s a stupid move,” Jisung says through a mouthful of chicken and rice. “But I was _there_ , watching you twerk with the rest of backup dancers at BTS’ last concert-…”

“Shut _up_ , you little termite,” Minho grins, elbowing him in the stomach. “How about you talk when one of _your_ songs makes it up on Billboard Top 100, huh?”

“One day,” Jisung chokes, wriggling away and swallowing his food. “The world isn’t ready for the power of 3RACHA.”

“You’re giving Changbin way too much credit.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

Cleaning up is an annoyance, as always, made easier with Minho’s old Bluetooth speakers blasting Red Velvet songs that they scream along to while washing the plates. The silence only _really_ settles after a shower, when Jisung gets to his room, thumping down on the bed and exhaling slowly.

Life has been…pretty good.

Sure, it’s been a hellish four years, working with 3RACHA and other part-time jobs on top of high school to both pay his rent and scrape some experience, but things have slowly been working out. He’s managed to snag a partial scholarship at SNU’s college of music, 3RACHA’s SoundCloud is up and running hot, and great news! He’s almost completely managed to grow out of his awkward teenage helmet haircut and baby fat, meaning he looks more like a human and less like an underaged peanut.

Things are going good for once in a long, long while.

Jisung's phone buzzes, then, and he rolls over, grabbing it off the bedside drawer.

_mom hyung [9:44pm]_   
_so soondae or kimbap_

He groans out loud. _Right_ , he’d forgotten they were coming over for an impromptu 3RACHA meeting tomorrow. It just so happened Jisung’s apartment was located centrally, and a lot closer to their studio than Chan’s condominium or Changbin’s mansion ( _“It’s_ not _a mansion, Sungie_ ” “ _You’re right, hyung. It’s a whole damn castle.”_ ).

_gremlin hyung [9:44pm]_   
_soondae_

_you [9:45pm]  
it’s my house therefore I get to choose  
I choose soondae  
_(︶.̮︶✽)

_gremlin hyung [9:45pm]  
>.>_

_mom hyung [9:45pm]  
don’t fight now kids, save your fire for the mixtape  
I have a big announcement tomorrow_

_you [9:45pm]  
(_ _╯_ _✧∇✧)_ _╯  
whats the news hyung  
omg_

_mom hyung [9:45pm]  
youll find out tmr  
sungie go and study  
and clean up your room  
if it’s anything like your insta story from this morning then theres gonna be a problem_

Jisung groans dramatically, sighing.

_you [9:46pm]  
yes mom  
why don’t you ever scold changbin hyung_

_gremlin hyung [9:46pm]  
I don’t live in a pigsty lmao  
happy cleaning_

Huffing and swearing under his breath, Jisung drags himself up. He starts tossing together clothes from all four corners of the room into his hamper, grumbling audibly, thinking of borrowing Minho’s detergent again – the one that smells like flowers, even after the clothes dry indoors.

He’s made some decent progress, meaning the floor is mostly visible again and he’s recovered three missing socks and a hoodie, and is shoving some clothes into his closet when something shifts, and a bunch of shoeboxes come tumbling out.

“Damn it,” he sits down, hurriedly pushing everything back in. He doesn’t remember this stuff at _all_ – there’s a class photo from high school, when he still had long hair and bunny teeth, some old medals and badges, and a picture.

He frowns, brushing the dust off the picture. It’s him, Chan, Younghyun and…their teacher. From the temple.

Jisung turns the photo over, blinking slowly. There’s a whole paragraph scrawled on the back in his chicken scratch handwriting:

 _to do by 19:  
(1) become a rap superstar!! _  
\- _share my spotlight with chan hyung?? ugh  
\- expand 2BASCO (come up with a better name stat!!)  
_   
_(2) take care of mom and dad  
\- buy a new coffee machine for dad  
\- make hyung come home for chuseok  
  
(3) find my soulmate??????  
\- idk  
\- seonsaengnim says I kno him already but he cant tell me how he feels now or sth??  
\- wtv love is 4 losers n e ways_

He snorts, grabbing a pen off his desk and ticking off the coffee machine and the 2BASCO expansion ( _damn, that was an awful name_ ). Then he glances down at the last one, frowning.

What had his teacher said? That it would be a difficult four years, but that…the troubled waters would soothe over when he turned 19? And for his soulmate…

He finds himself wandering out of his room before he knows it, knocking on the neighbouring door and inviting himself in without another word.

Minho doesn’t notice him at first – he’s marking a routine in front of the full-length mirror in his room, earbuds in. For a moment, Jisung’s tempted to just stand there, watching him. Even when he’s just marking the movements, there’s an _art_ in the way he moves, a fluidity in the choreography that makes a hush fall in a bubble around him. Jisung had once tried to write a song about it, something that’d kept him up for hours one night, bouncing off different ideas and sounds but unable to encapsulate the entirety of it on a piece of paper.

There was just…too much to him for a single song. Too much for an album, or even a series, maybe. Minho just seems to exist in another realm, far outside of the world, and around him, Jisung feels like a little kid lost in a candy store.

Never exactly knowing where he’s going, but he never really worrying about it.

Minho opens his eyes, catching him in the mirror, and whirls around, a confused smile on his face as he pulls out his earbuds. “What’s up?”

“Didn’t want to bother you while you were doing your routine,” Jisung flops down on Minho’s bed, gathering up all his stuffed toys. “Is that for a new BTS song?”

“Congratulations. Did you like the sneak peek?” Minho sits down next to him, so the mattress dips next to Jisung’s head. Absent-mindedly, he picks up a stuffed penguin and starts smothering Jisung with it. “So what’d you interrupt my practice for, punk?”

Fighting off the penguin, Jisung surfaces, just remembering the photo in his hand. He hands it over to Minho. “You know I told you about how the kids from my family went to a fortune teller when I was younger right? Well, when it was my turn, he said some pretty interesting stuff. Like how my high school life would be pretty rough, but it’d work out in the end.”

Minho raises a brow, looking the photo over. “Judging by the time you collapsed in the shower from exhaustion and I had to drag you in a cab to the hospital to be put on a drip? I’d say he was pretty spot on.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Jisung waves that away, trying to forget the embarrassing memory. “Well, he said something else,” he blinks up at Minho, who’s almost hovering over him at this point. “He said I had a soulmate.”

“A _soulmate_?”

“I _know_ , right?” Jisung gestures wildly. “Like, what the heck?”

“Hm,” Minho flops down beside him, so they’re both staring at the ceiling now. He doesn’t sound as surprised by the idea as Jisung thought he’d be. It’s true, though, because out of everyone Jisung knows, Minho’s probably one of the few who might actually believe something like that.

“But obviously he wouldn’t tell me _who_ ,” he sighs. “He just said I’d meet them again at 19.”

“Again?”

“He said I already _met_ my soulmate! Before I turned fifteen! What the heck, right? How could I not have known it was my soulmate when I met him?”

Minho’s watching him quietly. “You…have any ideas who it could be?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung bites his lip. “I don’t remember much – the teacher said something like, my soulmate would be someone I could spend the rest of my life with, and we could lean on each other when we needed to,” he rolls his eyes a little here. “And, I don’t know what the heck it’s supposed to mean, but apparently he couldn’t tell me how he felt because of _certain circumstances._ ”

Minho rolls over, face cupped in his hands. Without makeup, under the ceiling light, he looks just as tired as he probably feels, but his pretty eyes still crinkle in the same way when he smiles. “Sounds like a drama.”

“I want to meet him, hyung,” Jisung bites his lip, turning over too, so he’s facing Minho. Despite the calming smell of Minho’s room, the sea breeze candle he always uses, Jisung feels agitated. “I know it sounds dumb, but… _think about it_. A _soulmate_. Someone I could love for the rest of my life. Think of all the _songs_ I could write. That’s big bucks.”

Minho laughs at that, pushing him over. “Well, if you’re so concerned about it, why don’t we find out?”

Jisung sits up. “How?”

“You said,” Minho shrugs. “You already knew him back then, right? We could just make a list of all the people you knew back then, that you still know now, and we could, you know, narrow it down from there. Even if it doesn’t _help_ , or anything-…”

“That’s a _great_ idea!” Jisung grins, bolting out of the room immediately to grab the nearest bit of paper and pen, which happens to be his lyrics notebook (oh _gosh_ , Minho hyung’s so smart!). Then he rushes back in, cannonballing onto Minho’s bed and making himself comfortable among the pillows.

“You’re welcome,” the older boy grumbles, trying to catch his stuffed toys before they fall off his bed.

“Hmm…” Jisung chews the end of his pen, already bitten down from prior abuse, as he scribbles a name down. “Well…there’s Chan…”

“Ew?” Minho scrunches up his nose. “He’s almost like your older brother-…”

“Yeah, yeah okay, I’m just making the list, okay, sheesh,” Jisung snorts. “Did I know Changbin back then? I don’t think so-…”

“Thank _goodness_.”

“I _know_ , right, bullet dodged there. I did know Felix, though,” he scribbles down. “And…Jeongin…?”

“He’s a _mite_.”

“He’s one year younger than me, hyung,” Jisung retorts. “But okay, yeah, I totally can’t see that happening. Who else?”

“Hwang Hyunjin?” Minho suggests. “From my crew. You guys were childhood friends, right?”

“Oh, right, Hyunjin,” Jisung’s brow scrunches slightly, pen hesitating. That’s someone he hadn’t really kept in contact with – not just because Hyunjin hadn’t exactly been the nicest person to Jisung as a kid (though they were like, twelve, none of them knew what they were doing) but also because they just didn’t have a lot in common other than their friends. He writes the name down nonetheless.

They spend the rest of the night writing down names, and Jisung adds little annotations here and there ( _kinda cute idk?? Had a nice haircut last year. Said he didn’t like rap music (wtf??). haven’t spoken to in 2 years??),_ and after some exhaustive Instagram and Facebook stalking, Jisung has a full page of names.

“It’s so exciting, hyung,” Jisung whispers, rolling over to bury his face in a stuffed toy.

Minho laughs, his head propped up on one hand. “It’s nice.”

“What is?”

“You know,” the older boy shrugs. There’s a soft kind of smile on his face. “You haven’t looked this happy in a while.”

“Yeah, well, school isn’t exactly Excitement Central,” Jisung rolls his eyes, before reaching over to pull Minho into a hug. “Thanks for helping me, hyung.”

“Anytime,” Minho pats him graciously. “Now scram. Chan texted me to get you to clean your room, and you probably left it halfway to freak out over this whole soulmate thing.”

“Ugh, could you _not_ know me so well for once?” Jisung groans, slouching out with his things.

“Can’t help it, it’s fate!” Minho calls, and Jisung laughs, before closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe
> 
> thanks for reading thus far!! if you've come from my other fics, yes, this is the minsung soulmate au i've been talking about since last year. again, it's inspired by a story my friend told me about her experience with a fortune teller in her hometown, and i couldn't get it out of my head (this was during exam month) so i penned an entire fic skeleton down, dumped it in my notes and didn't touch it until this january. thought publishing this would be the only way to push me to actually finish it oof
> 
> i hope you guys like the fic so far! comments and kudos will be hugged and treasured ;u; let me know how you guys think this will pan out hehe! 
> 
> talk with me pls! ;u;  
> personal twt: @goldengyeom  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (locked for qrts but i will accept your follow!!) ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) 


	3. 003.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho laughs, his head propped up on one hand. “It’s nice.”
> 
> “What is?”
> 
> “You know,” the older boy shrugs. There’s a soft kind of smile on his face. “You haven’t looked this happy in a while.”

Jisung springs up as the doorbell rings, opening up with a grin.

“Thank you sir, what’ll the delivery fee be?”

“Har har, funny,” Chan grumbles, shouldering past Jisung to get into the apartment. The delicious smell of _soondae_ and spam kimbap wafts from the bags in his hands, and the younger boy is almost drooling. “Where’s Binnie?”

“He’s going to be late. Lost track of the time when he was out with Felix, probably,” Jisung rolls his eyes. “Can we start eating without him?”

“Again? We should just eat all the food without him,” Chan snorts. He pulls open a plastic bag after washing his hands, delivering a slice of _soondae_ to Jisung’s waiting mouth, cueing the younger boy to do a victory dance around the kitchen.

He knows he ribs Chan a lot, but to be perfectly honest, the guy’s always been great boyfriend material. Kind, caring, passionate about music and about love, good with kids – pretty much the reason why-…

Jisung, in his excitement, trips over a socked foot, and stumbles over into someone's arms, before looking behind him with a bright smile. "Noona!"

“What do you want, rascal?” Jimin snipes, offloading Jisung into Chan’s arms, before setting even more food down on the counter. “Channie, where do you want these?”

It’s exactly like one of those awful adult romance novels, Jisung thinks – it all began at a well-known rooftop bar in the city centre, except Chan was just there to network with a business partner for a music project, and Jimin was a part-time singer, part-time comms student.

Chan had stayed on till Jimin's set was over to ask for her number, and Jimin asked him out a week later.

It’s been almost three years since that, and Jisung has had ample time to witness their character development from blushing and sweet to disgustingly domestic.

“Just over there is fine. Thanks for being my unpaid labour,” Chan smiles, and Jisung fake retches.

“Who says I’m not getting paid?” Jimin asks mockingly, before tiptoeing for a kiss, and Jisung really retches this time.

“Can you guys not? In front of my salad?” Jisung complains, wriggling in between them, opening the bags and crowing in delight. “Wow, are you feeding an army? This is a _lot_ of food.”

“Well, it’s a celebration, after all,” Chan’s eyes twinkle, and the younger rapper looks up suspiciously.

“Celebration for what?”

Chan glances at his watch, before rolling his eyes. “You snooze, you lose, Changbin can wait,” he waves his phone. “Remember how I told you someone picked up on our SoundCloud stuff?”

Jisung’s eyes grow round, _soondae_ forgotten.

“It was an entertainment label,” Chan’s face splits into a big smile. “They’re offering us a contract. One album.”

The younger boy doesn’t even wait till Chan’s done talking before whooping, racing around the kitchen, arms flailing. “ _We’re gonna have an album!_ We’re going to have promotions!” he gasps, before darting out, grabbing his phone off the couch. “I gotta tell Minho!”

_you [7:22pm]  
hyung!!! 3racha got picked up by a label!!!!!!!!!!!!  
were gonna be superstars!!!!!!!!_

_kitten hyung~ [7:23pm]  
YAYYYY  
see I told you?? they were gonna see the light one day  
when do u start tho?? _

Jisung blinks. Right, he hadn’t even thought about that.

“Hyung, I’ve still got like, three more years till I graduate,” he says, wandering back into the kitchen. Sometimes he forgets Chan and Changbin are so much older than him. “That’s okay, right?”

“That’s why I called the meeting tonight, I wanted to sort out all the admin stuff,” Chan says absent-mindedly, in the midst of feeding Jimin some kimbap. “We’re gonna be negotiating the terms at a mixer party next week – you’re all invited by default, by the way.”

“Oh, okay!” Jisung brightens up again, skipping over and opening his mouth expectantly.

“Okay, baby bird, you get one too,” Jimin laughs, giving Jisung a slice, cueing another dance.

It takes a while, but Jisung finally manages to stop eating long enough for them to move all the food out to the table in the living room that Jisung had set up earlier.

Jimin checks her phone after they’re all settled, as Chan is pouring sparkling peach juice into plastic cups. “Okay, gotta go now,” she waves carelessly, bopping Jisung on the head. “Pick you up later, babe.”

“Okay,” Chan caps the peach juice. “If you see Changbin on the way down, hit him for us.”

“Bye noona! I'm your number one fan!” Jisung calls out through a mouthful of rice, and Jimin snorts on her way out.

Jisung connects his phone to the Bluetooth speakers to play some music _(you can never go wrong with IU)_ and replies Minho’s texts at the same time, snapping a picture of the spread.

_you [7:43pm]  
gonna eat all of this without you hyung uwu_

“So, anything transpire in the last four days since we’ve seen each other?” Chan pops a blueberry in his mouth, leaning back against the couch.

The _not much, you_ is this close to leaving Jisung’s mouth when he thinks about it. “Actually…yeah.”

Chan raises a brow. “Sounds serious.”

“It’s nothing big, just,” he sets his phone down, turning to Chan. “Remember that time you followed me to see the teacher? Near the temple?”

The older man scrunches up his nose for a moment, thinking hard. “Yeah. That was your…fifteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jisung fiddles with his cup of peach juice. “Remember what he said? About what would happen after my high school graduation?”

“Something about…you doing music? _Wow_ , he was pretty spot on, wasn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, that. And uhm…” Jisung trails off meekly. “My soul…mate?”

Chan inhales sharply, then, looking at Jisung with something like an exasperated hopefulness. “Yeah. And?”

“If what he said is true, I’ll be meeting my soulmate again. Sometime this year,” Jisung presses on.

“Or, maybe,” the other man says pointedly. “Maybe you already met him. Maybe you guys are just,” he gestures. “Coexisting as friends right now, or something, you know?” he looks at Jisung meaningfully. “It could be someone you see every day.”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“Exactly.”

Jisung leans forward eagerly. “So remember how the teacher said it was someone I knew back then?”

Chan stops with a blueberry halfway to his mouth.

“So Minho-hyung helped me make a list of all the people I knew back then, that I still kinda know now, in case they’re, you know, _the one_ ,” Jisung says giddily.

“Oh, Sungie,” the older man hesitates. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Jisung frowns. “What do you mean?”

Chan seems to take some time to put the words together, speaking carefully. “You know, you’ve…got a good thing going on here,” he gestures around them. “You know what I mean?”

The younger boy blinks. “No.”

“As in,” Chan rephrases. “Don’t you think you’re kind of…limiting yourself, when you narrow it down to people you only knew then? What if someone really good shows up? What if they already have, and you’re not allowing yourself to date them because of this?”

“But hyung, it’s my _soulmate_ ,” Jisung says quietly. “Everything else the teacher said came true – about the tough four years, and having it all come together at the end, you know? And now…I just want it to be true.”

“I _know_ , just,” Chan pulls Jisung halfway into his arms – Chan always has such nice hugs. “I want you to end up with someone good, okay? The world’s full of people just looking out for themselves, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yes, mom,” Jisung beams toothily up at Chan, who laughs. “Which is why I’m looking for my soulmate now! I’m not looking for a drama romance, hyung,” he rolls his eyes. “Like you said, I just want someone…good for me. Someone I can be good to too.”

“Oh, well, okay,” Chan seems to relent. “But we’ll always be here, okay? Changbin, Jimin, me,” he gives Jisung meaningful look, then. “ _And_ Minho.”

“Thanks hyung,” Jisung sits up, almost knocking into Chan’s jaw and rubbing it in apology. “I’ll keep you updated!”

“Yeah, you do that,” Chan throws a pillow in his face, snorting. “Now, you wanna bet on what time Changbin’s showing up tonight? Loser cleans up.”

“Or,” Jisung says meaningfully, polishing off another piece of kimbap. “We could just bet, and regardless of whoever wins, Changbin cleans up.”

Chan throws his head back and laughs.

“This is why you’re my favourite child.”

*

Jisung is half asleep by the time he hears the shower door open.

He slinks out of bed, yawning, bouncing off the walls until he reaches the kitchen.

“Leftovers,” he says sleepily, hooking his chin over Minho’s shoulder.

“Already ahead of you,” the dancer smirks, taking the box of food from the kitchen counter. “Knew I could count on Chan to save me some.”

“Excuse me,” Jisung sulks. “ _I_ was the one who put all the food together into this box.”

“I know, I know,” Minho pats his cheeks, before sitting at the kitchen table, Jisung settling automatically next to him.

“Why are you so late,” the younger boy yawns.

“Big show coming up in three weeks, remember?” Minho grabs a piece of blood sausage with his chopsticks, eating it whole. He must’ve skipped dinner again, Jisung thinks disapprovingly. He usually skips a lot of meals when he’s stressed. “You’re coming, right?”

“Yep! Already wrote it down on my calendar,” Jisung waves his phone. He remembers, then, the mixer happening next week, the one where Chan will be negotiating the terms for their contract at.

He’s never been much of a party person to begin with, the thought of being stuck there with all those people makes him nervous, to be honest, but he knows this stuff is right up Minho’s alley – _and_ he’d probably be able to network with some pretty high up people too, right?

“Hyung, are you free next Saturday night?”

He already knows the answer before he even gets it – _duh_ , dumb boy, Minho’s practice ramps up to include Saturday nights when his shows are coming up, especially since he’s leading this crew, and Jisung wants to smack himself. Minho’s watching him curiously, though, food temporarily abandoned. “Why?”

“Nah, Chan invited us to a mixer party and I was wondering if you’d wanna come, but you’ve got practice on, right?”

Minho chews meditatively. “I mean…” he seems conflicted for a moment, before deflating. “Yeah, I guess I’ve got practice on. I could come join if you’re staying late, though.”

“Me? Staying late at a party?” Jisung wrinkles his nose. He feels even more uneasy about the party now, knowing that Minho won’t be able to be there with him. “Catch me back home at 10pm watching anime reruns, ew.”

Minho laughs, before attacking a piece of kimbap. “So, about that contract…?”

The younger boy stands, then, doing a happy jig around the kitchen. “Chan told us not to get our hopes up too high, in case, you know. It doesn’t work out. But he says prospects are pretty good! Minimum one album, one year of promotions. They’re going to extend our contract if we do well!”

“What’s the company?” Minho leans back, reaching out with hand to snag Jisung before he can dance himself into the sink.

“It’s not a very big one,” Jisung hands the business card over. “They usually do composing and writing and guides for bigger companies, but this is the first time they’re branching into, you know, actually promoting artists and stuff.”

Minho inspects the card, before looking up at Jisung, who’s biting his lip nervously, not knowing why the other boy’s approval is so important to him. He reasons that it’s because Minho’s been in the entertainment industry for a while, and would know more than he does.

It’s clear from his expression, though, that he’s not 100% satisfied – the guy does tours with BTS, for crying out loud. “Just make sure they’re not a bunch of scammers, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that hyung,” Jisung lets out a breath. “You’re forgetting Changbin’s whole ass _army_ of lawyers. They’ll be checking all the contract stuff when it comes.”

“Right,” Minho chuckles. “I always forget how loaded Chan and Changbin are. Well, if that checks out,” he shrugs, passing the card back. “I guess this is it, Sungie. This is what you’ve been working for all these years.”

He leans back then, head pillowed in Jisung’s tummy, and despite the dark circles, the puffy blotchiness of his skin from the weeks of late nights and instant food, he still manages to look ethereal.

It makes Jisung’s heart do this loop-de-loop thing, the same thing fangirls probably feel when they look at Minho up on that stage. He’s seen Minho’s friends, all beautiful people in a beautiful, glittering world (though none of them can match up to Minho!! And Jisung’s not even being biased here).

It makes Jisung a little wistful and a little sad. That he’s just a kid, still outgrowing his teenage social incompetence, with an eccentric (read: lazy) sense of fashion, who’s only ever touched alcohol a couple of times in his life.

Just a kid who’ll never be able to be a part of that with Minho.

_Oh. I could probably write a song about that._

Already, his mind is buzzing, searching for a hook, different melodies playing in his head. He’s envisioning some retro, 120-ish BPM song with his own brand of depressing lyrics, maybe with a synth backbone, or a simple electric riff? And what would the chord progression be? A generic 1-5-6-4, with a sexy little minor twist in the pre-chorus, maybe, and the hook could be something like-…

Far away, in the same room, he hears Minho laugh, the sound like a breath of fresh air. “New song?”

“When I become super famous,” Jisung drapes himself comfortably over Minho, feet still tapping. “You gotta still live with me, okay hyung? You’re going to be my money tree.”

“You mean,” the edge of Minho’s lips pull up in a crooked smile, as he casts a hooded glance back. “Your muse?”

That makes Jisung’s heart beat a little faster – things always sound so _romantic_ whenever Minho says them.

“Yeah,” he shrugs confidently, leaning forward to steal the kimbap out of Minho’s chopsticks. “Or that. But I prefer money tree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another chapter of angel indulging herself in coping mechanisms while the storm rages on outside
> 
> don't forget to stay safe and socially responsible guys! to all those rushing to get home because of the coronavirus situation, hope you guys have safe travels ;A; 
> 
> internship has been pretty crazy as of late but i'll try my best to keep weekly updates on either this or surrender! all my volunteering events got cancelled so... i guess i have a bit more time to write T_T 
> 
> comments and kudos will be appreciated! ;A; how do you guys think this will play out? :x hehe
> 
> talk with me pls! ;u;  
> personal twt: @goldengyeom  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (locked for qrts but i will accept your follow!!) ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) 


	4. 004.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far away, in the same room, he hears Minho laugh, the sound like a breath of fresh air. “New song?”
> 
> “When I become super famous,” Jisung drapes himself comfortably over Minho, feet still tapping. “You gotta still live with me, okay hyung? You’re going to be my money tree.”
> 
> “You mean,” the edge of Minho’s lips pull up in a crooked smile, as he casts a hooded glance back. “Your muse?”
> 
> That makes Jisung’s heart beat a little faster – things always sound so _romantic_ whenever Minho says them.
> 
> “Yeah,” he shrugs confidently, leaning forward to steal the kimbap out of Minho’s chopsticks. “Or that. But I prefer money tree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written to [this song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0FOgqJv6Vs)

“Your _what_?”

“Babe,” Changbin winces, a hand over his ear. Felix takes his arm and giggles in apology, as if he isn’t already glued to the other boy’s side, and Changbin’s expression melts into something so gooey that it takes every ounce of willpower in Jisung not to retch.

“You have a _soulmate_ , Sungie?” Felix repeats, over the sound of the music.

Turns out the mixer party Chan mentioned is on the rooftop of some capitalist pitfall hotel, and Jisung has long escaped the music and dancing to the poolside with Changbin and Felix, Changbin’s super cute, warm-hearted lucky charm college sweetheart, and also Jisung’s self-declared twinnie. Pros? Where Changbin is, Felix follows.

Cons? Where Changbin is, Felix follows.

Jisung tries to ignore the squeamish bubblegum castle cloud look in Changbin’s eyes when he smiles at Felix again. _Ugh_. “Yeah! I mean, obviously I’m not banking on it to change my life or anything, but imagine if it were true, you know?”

“That’s so _romantic_ ,” Felix pouts, looking at Changbin. “I wish I had a soulmate.”

The older boy rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

Felix giggles again. “I guess you’ll have to do,” he murmurs sweetly, kissing Changbin’s cheek.

Jisung groans. “Can you guys please _not_.”

“ _Well_ ,” the other 2000-liner ignores him. “Who do you think it is? Your soulmate?”

“That’s the thing! I don’t know, especially if it’s someone I knew as a kid, you know?”

“I wouldn’t get too fussed over it, Sungie,” Changbin wraps an arm around Felix’s waist. “It’ll come when it comes. Let’s focus on our album for now, yeah?”

Felix claps cheerfully, as Jisung’s eyes travel to the private dining rooms in the restaurant further in, beyond all the swimwear clad partygoers and dancers. Chan’s in there somewhere – the company reps wanted to stay and talk to him a little longer, and he’d assured the two of them that nothing was wrong, and just to wait outside.

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” Jisung gripes, tearing his eyes away from the tinted glass of the restaurant. “When you’ve got a whole boyfriend on your lap.”

The older rapper grins sheepishly, then, and Felix takes this as an invitation to _really_ climb into Changbin’s lap, giggling and pushing him back onto the deckchair.

And then…they start making out.

Jisung sighs. He needs new friends.

It’s then that someone bumps into the foot of the deckchair, apologising, and Jisung barely looks up, embarrassed to be seen here with a couple one step away from committing public indecency, but then Felix detaches himself from Changbin with a _pop_ , and looks up in surprise. “Hyunjinnie?”

“Ah, it’s you,” the tall boy whines, stepping in a little closer, so his face comes into the muted glow of the poolside lamps. Currently, it’s screwed up a little in faux disgust, but it’s impossible to deny – it’s a very pretty face.

Jisung kind of can’t stop staring.

And _ohshitohshit_ the boy settles gracefully on the snug little leather couch next to him, long legs crossing, so Jisung can see his pristine white Adidas sneakers. When he brushes his hair back, the light glitters off the highlighter on his cheekbones.

“What brings you here, Hyunjinnie?” Felix asks, looking a little confused.

And then belatedly, it hits Jisung. _Hyunjin? Like Hwang…Hyunjin?_

He stares even more. It takes him a while, but he can finally put a name to those strikingly familiar features – the beautiful cat eyes, the sharp, elegant nose, the soft, plush lips. It’s _Hwang Hyunjin_ , from middle school, looking like a fucking magazine cutout, as if he wasn’t already glowed up enough back then and took seconds when nobody was looking.

“Youtube stuff. Boring things,” waiters seem to gravitate towards their little spot now that Hyunjin’s here, and the other boy takes a flute of champagne. Still gawking a little, Jisung takes one when it’s offered (and also snags a strawberry cream cheese tart, those things are _really_ good). “What about you?”

“Crew stuff. We might be doing another tour next month, if this deal is closed right,” Felix shrugs, winking. “Anyway, guys, this is Hwang Hyunjin, from my dance crew. Hyunjin, you’ve met Changbin, and this is Han Jisung. He and Changbin are in the same rap trio.”

“Hi,” Hyunjin waves, flashing a blinding smile, one that Jisung tries to return. _Heck_ , he’s so nervous. For a while, he’s super relieved that Minho helped him pick his clothes today, staying back to try out different jackets and do Jisung’s makeup until he was satisfied.

(“Now _this_ looks a lot better,” Minho had said, smoothening down Jisung’s leather jacket. He whirls the sulky younger boy around to face the mirror by his shoulders, like he’s a puppet. “Why won’t you let me dress you all the time, hm?”

“It’s itchy,” Jisung scratches at a label, but he can’t disagree. He _does_ look like a snack.

Minho hooks his chin over Jisung’s shoulder, squeezing his waist gently, before booping his nose. “Have fun. Stay close to Chan and Changbin and don’t get knocked up.”

“ _Ah, hyung!_ ”)

“H-hi,” Jisung says, mouth dry.

“Nice party, isn’t it?” Changbin offers, as means of conversation. He usually isn't so happy about being interrupted, but Jisung supposes that even someone as perpetually grumpy as him can make exceptions for boys so pretty.

“It’s alright,” Hyunjin shrugs, taking a sip of champagne, casting a bored, elegant sort of look around the place. _Fuck_ , he’s so _pretty._ “Music isn’t bad. Any of your songs?”

“I wish,” Changbin laughs. “No, not-…”

“Not yet,” Jisung pipes up, then, surprising even himself. The champagne is making him brave.

Catching the questioning look Hyunjin sends him, Jisung puffs out his chest, pulling on the boyish, cocky look he keeps ready in his pocket for performances or recordings. “We’re closing a deal tonight. It’s going to be our first album and domestic promotion tour.”

The other rapper laughs, rolling his eyes. “We haven’t even signed a contract yet, Sungie, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“ _Ah_ , you know it’s already in the bag, hyung, we should give ourselves a little more credit,” Jisung takes another sip of champagne. It bubbles down his throat, making him feel brave.

Or, it could just be the way Hyunjin looks at him after that, long fingers playing with the stem of his champagne glass, sharp eyes glancing him up and down, like he’s seeing him for the first time. And his shy little smile, revealing a flash of perfect white, as he murmurs: “I didn’t know. That’s pretty cool, Jisung.”

*

“…and then Chan-hyung met him through his major and Youtube stuff, and thought his rapping was really great, but Changbin was pretty much all about _going solo_ until he heard Chan’s music. And then _voila!_ 3RACHA was born!” Jisung gestures animatedly, almost knocking a waiter’s tray of champagne over. “Oops, sorry.”

“That’s interesting,” Hyunjin smiles, as they head up the mezzanine stairs. Eventually Hyunjin had gotten bored of the poolside, and the intensity of ChangLix’s bedroom eyes was starting to be a little too much for even Jisung to deal with (and he’s dealt with _a lot_ ) so when Hyunjin mentions something about going to get a drink, the young producer leaps at the opportunity to follow him.

It’s been ten minutes now, and they’ve been wandering around the top level together, taking in the pretty lights and the sounds. Hyunjin takes out an extremely professional-looking hand-sized camera halfway, saying something about wanting to go to the top to get a nice shot for his vlog.

He gets sidelined by a couple of extremely pretty girls. They’ve been stopped by a lot of pretty people on the way here, but Jisung isn’t complaining. “Hey Yuna, hey Lia.”

“Hey Hyunjinnie~” Lia, the girl with the solar system of cosmetic gems under her eyes smiles. A waitress stops by their group, holding out a tray of champagne, and Hyunjin takes one without looking at her, which Lia then takes from him, giggling when she takes a sip.

“Where’s your camera oppa? Put us on your vlog,” the girl called Yuna laughs. She’s wearing a sparkly sequin top, and she looks even younger than Jisung and Hyunjin are. _Dang_ , Jisung thinks, is she even allowed to be here? Back in _his day_ , Jisung had been calling his parents every other night at 9pm, after which he’d be holed up in his room, working on songs or rushing homework until 2.

“Who’s the arm candy?” Lia winks at him. She looks a little tipsy. Jisung feels worried, then he feels surprised. _Wait, arm candy’s referring to me. I’m arm candy?_

“This is Han Jisung. He’s a producer,” Hyunjin nods, and the girls _ooooh_. It feels nice.

“It’s nice to meet you oppa~” Yuna singsongs. “Is he your age?”

Hyunjin looks at Jisung questioningly then, who fumbles once he gets the message that he’s supposed to answer. “Yeah! We’re both born in 2000.”

He catches himself just before he mentions that he and Hyunjin went to middle school together – there’s probably a reason why the other boy didn’t bring it up.

“Have fun, both of you,” Lia winks again, phone raised to her ear. It makes Jisung’s face heat up, but also gives him a bravery boost – does she think he and Hyunjin look good together? “Yeji’s calling, I’ll see you around Hyunjin!”

They continue upwards, and the world continues to revolve around them, a mess of starlight and glamour that makes Jisung’s heart beat fast, the same pace as the bass pounding through the floor. Hyunjin leans against him at one point to let someone else pass, and Jisung’s so afraid that the thundering of his pulse will betray him.

Once they finally make it to the top, Jisung’s eyes widen – so _this_ is what all the fuss is about. The city stretches endless before his feet, lit up like a technicolour carpet, and he leans against the cool steel and glass railing, feeling the wind blow stiff against his face.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin calls then, and the other boy turns. Maybe it’s transference, or conditioning, or just something about the way all the starlight in the sky is reflected in the dancer’s lovely dark eyes, but Jisung’s heart feels a hummingbird, wings fluttering inside his chest. “I’m going to start my recording.”

“Oh, okay! Should I…step out, or-…?”

“No, silly,” Hyunjin laughs, reaching over and pulling him in, before raising the camera. He’s so _tall_ , Jisung thinks, and his movements feel like warm silk. “Hey guys, and welcome back to my channel! So remember when I said I was attending that mixer party? You’ll never guess where I am right now.”

He does a smooth pan of the skyline, before turning the camera back to face him. The camera’s got one of those flip viewing screens, and Jisung’s stomach does a complicated little twist when he sees himself on the screen, tucked into Hyunjin’s side, a flush blooming on his cheeks from the alcohol, and he _realises_ – they don’t look all that bad together.

“Everyone, meet Jisungie, he’s a producer,” Hyunjin turns to him, then, laughing. “Here’s your chance to promote.”

“Oh, uh…everyone! Listen to 3RACHA’s SoundCloud! That’s the number 3, and then RACHA, like uh… like a Pokemon! And watch out for our album, coming out uhm…sometime!” Jisung says brightly, making the dancer laugh again.

They spend the rest of the night exploring, walking around together and meeting new people, and through the haze steps out something magical in those precious hours.

When Jisung looks into Hyunjin’s eyes as they’re parting ways that night, so close he can see himself reflected against the night sky, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might just have found his soulmate.

*

Jisung whirlwinds as quietly as he can around the kitchen, grabbing things, putting them down, looking for other things and then forgetting where he’d put the first things.

Eventually, though he manages to cobble together something bordering on decent – steaming hot (microwaveable, but whatever) rice, some stir-fried pork and cabbage he’d kidnapped back from Chan’s house, a jumble of side dishes his mom had sent him back with during his last visit, and also egg soup (that he made himself!!). Not bad for someone who can only boil water, Jisung thinks proudly.

The bathroom door opens, then, and Jisung jolts into action, hurriedly trying to stuff all the plastic packaging from the microwaved stuff into the bin. Footsteps come down the tiny hallway, then, and-…

“Surprise!” Jisung pounces onto Minho, who just about malfunctions from shock.

“ _Jisung_ , what are you-…”

“I figured you probably didn’t get to eat dinner before going for practice because you had practice last night and I heard you at 2 in the morning eating hard boiled eggs out of the fridge so I thought you’d like to have something nice tonight,” Jisung says in one breath. Changbin would be so proud.

Minho doesn’t say anything for a while, staring into the kitchen and the messy mix-and-match of dishes on the table. This carries on for a moment or two, with Jisung standing at one side, twiddling his thumbs expectantly.

“That’s…” he says. Jisung seriously hopes he’s speechless from pleasant surprise and not some sort of stroke. Minho finally cracks a weak smile. “This is-…thanks. Thank you Sungie.”

Jisung brightens, then, making a big show out of pulling out Minho’s chair (actually just a rickety old thing they had to superglue the legs back on for a couple of times). “Sit, your highness.”

He settles next to him at the cramped table, as Minho picks up his chopsticks, looking at the (honestly pretty pathetic) spread on the table like he’s not sure what to eat first. “How was practice tonight?”

“Same old,” Minho sighs, finally deciding on some pork and cabbage, pinching some reverently into his bowl of rice. “Tiring. Stupid people. Concert’s coming up and we still look like trash.”

Jisung nods sympathetically, though he knows that the latter is at least 80% Minho’s sky-high standards. He’s _seen_ them at practice before, and they’re great.

“The agency coaches and managers are going to be there for the concert. And if we don’t get our shit together they’re going to kick out the weaker ones and call up one of the fifty on the waiting list. Jeongin’s struggling and it’s not even _his_ fault he can’t get the formation when a handful of them are permanently AWOL,” Minho grumbles, lifting the bowl to scoop some rice into his mouth with his chopsticks. “I’m sick of people not taking this seriously. Bunch of rich punks just here to have fun and get their cheeks clapped by an idol so they can put it on their Instagram, while the rest of us are trying to earn a living.”

The younger boy leans into Minho’s side, not as happy as he thought he would be when he gets fed a piece of tofu. He really likes Jeongin – who doesn’t? The thought of him getting kicked off the crew feels awful. “That really sucks.”

“That’s life, I guess,” the dancer rolls his eyes, getting some marinated beansprouts. “What about you, Sungie? How was that party on Saturday?”

“Oh, it was pretty fun, I guess,” Jisung draws it out, and Minho catches on immediately, laughing dryly.

“ _Someone_ sounds a little excited.”

“It wasn’t anything much,” the younger boy hums, enjoying himself. “So I was with Changbin and Felix, and they were, you know, making out-…”

“Nothing new there.”

“I _know_ right? Anyway, they were making out, and _someone_ walked past and Felix asked him to sit down with us,” Jisung’s eyes sparkle, as he thinks about that night. “And guess who it was.”

Minho’s watching him with a tired, fond kind of mirth, that makes him feel really hopeful and kind of apprehensive about what he’s going to say. The older boy eats another mouthful of rice. “Who?”

Jisung makes a happy noise, dancing in his seat. “It was _Hwang Hyunjin_ , hyung!”

It’s then that Minho’s expression changes, first a spark of annoyance, then confusion, then full-out righteous anger. Jisung watches all this happen in the span of less than a second, and it’s alarming but also funny because Minho still has his mouth full.

“Hwang _Hyunjin?_ From my dance crew?”

The younger boy blinks. “Yes?”

“That little fucking _brat_ ,” Minho all but slams his chopsticks down, running a hand through his hair. “ _He_ was at the party on Saturday night?”

“Yes?” Jisung squeaks.

“He told me he couldn’t make it for practice because of _family issues_!” Minho stands up, chair rattling backwards, presumably to find his battered brick of a phone. Immediately, Jisung scrambles up after him, octopus hugging him.

“It’s okay hyung, don’t get mad, it’s bad for your blood pressure,” he says worriedly, rocking Minho back and forth sideways. “There’s probably a really logical explanation for this, hyung.”

“Yeah, that ever since he had that fling with some half-rate singer and got a huge Youtube following boost he’s stopped giving a shit about what happens to the crew,” Minho steams, but he lets himself be hugged anyway. “I can’t believe he still had the _balls_ to lie like this.”

“It’s probably a misunderstanding. Maybe he had to bring his mom to the clinic earlier, and he had time afterwards so he came for the party. I only saw him at like, 10pm,” Jisung reasons, half with himself too. _Hyunjin wouldn’t do something so irresponsible, would he?_ Also, wait. _What fling…?_ “He had a fling?”

“Yeah, it was probably some one-night stand,” Minho grumbles. Jisung lets go of him, and he slumps back down in the chair, almost breaking it. “Whatever. He’d better fucking turn up for practice on Thursday is all I’m saying.”

_This is fine. You’re not going to judge someone by what they did in the past, right?_

He thinks back to Hyunjin that night, all shy, handsome smiles and cute champagne bubble laughter. _No, he’s not like that._

“Why?”

Jisung realises Minho’s looking at him again. He’s stopped eating. “Why were you talking about him?”

“Oh, nothing, I just thought,” the younger boy fumbles. _This is…probably not the greatest time to tell Minho-hyung I think my soulmate is Hyunjin_. It feels strange. It’s probably the first time he’s kept a secret from Minho in…forever. “I thought it was a pretty neat coincidence, you know, we were in the same class in middle school and everything.”

“What was he like in middle school?” Minho isn’t eating anymore. He still looks upset, and Jisung feels guilty. He should’ve talked about this after the older boy was done eating.

“He was…” Jisung trails off. Sure, it’s true, Hyunjin and him did use to fight in middle school, but they were dumb little boys. Definitely, they;ve both grown since then, right? “He was okay. Hyung, let’s not talk about this anymore,” he feels immensely down now – he’d been looking forward to updating Minho on this since the party. “You should eat.”

“Ah, okay, don’t sulk,” Minho mumbles, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in for a hug. His embrace is familiar and warm, smelling of baby soap and minty shampoo, a little harder like it usually is after hours of intense practice. “Sorry I got mad. I’m just worried.”

“It’s okay. I get it,” Jisung says, as Minho lets go of him, delicate hand trailing down his arm to hold onto his hand, and he means it. He knows how much Minho cares about dance and how much he cares about this crew, even if he'll never admit it. “You really should eat though, hyung.”

“Yeah,” the dancer sighs, picking up his chopsticks again. “I’ll just finish up. You should go to bed soon, Sungie, don’t you have class tomorrow morning?”

“Mmh,” Jisung says, but he doesn’t get up. Part of the reason is because he’s lazy to move, but the most part is because Minho hasn’t let go of his hand, soft fingers still threaded loosely with his.

There’s a striking familiarity about it that’s a little out of place, because, _come on_ , they’ve only known each other for a couple of years, and _yet_ …yet it feels like they’ve been doing this since forever.

It’s something Jisung’s always felt with Minho, and sometimes he’d start off laughing and saying things like “hyung, you totally remind me of my friend when…” before trailing off because he realises that friend doesn’t exist.

Jisung just _remembers_.

He sits quietly, mulling it over in his head until it sounds like a song, aching and confused and wistful, as Minho eats, and they don’t talk about it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos will be especially appreciated during this time haha
> 
> stay safe and stay responsible guys!
> 
> talk with me pls! ;u;  
> personal twt: @goldengyeom  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (locked for qrts but i will accept your follow!!) ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) 


	5. 005.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mmh,” Jisung says, but he doesn’t get up. Part of the reason is because he’s lazy to move, but the most part is because Minho hasn’t let go of his hand, soft fingers still threaded loosely with his.
> 
> There’s a striking familiarity about it that’s a little out of place, because, _come on_ , they’ve only known each other for a couple of years, and yet…yet it feels like they’ve been doing this since forever.
> 
> It’s something Jisung’s always felt with Minho, and sometimes he’d start off laughing and saying things like “hyung, you totally remind me of my friend when…” before trailing off because he realises that friend doesn’t exist.
> 
> Jisung just _remembers._

The next two weeks fly by like a dream.

Hyunjin had given Jisung his number that night (“I need to text you when the video is up, don’t I?”), and their one-off texts turn into little conversations, which turn into daily texts. Jisung learns a little bit more about Hyunjin every time they talk – that his dream is to become a Youtube star, that he loves dancing (and singing with piano on the side, how dreamy), that he gets startled easily from pranks, and that he loves his friends to death.

Jisung is in _love_.

He’s not in denial about the fact that he’s always been infatuated with the whole enemies-to-lovers idea, the thought of two people growing up past their immature little fights to appreciate each other for who they truly are. It just feels so _nice_ talking to Hyunjin all the time.

With both their schedules as hectic as they are, Jisung trying to keep a hold on his scholarship and Hyunjin balancing part-time studies and his Youtube stuff, it’s difficult to find a time to meet, but Jisung is determined – besides, they’re texting almost all the time, and that almost feels like enough.

To top it off, things have been pretty quiet for 3RACHA this week – it’s just administrative stuff on the company’s side keeping Chan and Changbin busy, according to Chan, and Jisung doesn’t want to bother him any more than he needs to.

_you (1:45am)  
so I was in the water right  
like a little 5-year-old kid just floating with my life jacket in a river  
and then there was this HUGE log floating nearby  
and suddenly the guide just reached in and pulled me out  
like I was laundry  
I swear_

_hyunjinnie <3 (1:47am)  
???_

_you (1:47am)  
crazy right!!  
so I was like whats going on  
and it turned out  
the log was a crocodile or smth  
like wth???_

_hyunjinnie <3 (1:49am)  
omg :x  
how are you even alive??_

_you (1:49am)  
my dad didn’t let me go swimming after that  
but yeah  
first trip to Malaysia before we settled down there for a while when I was 6  
for my dad’s work_

_hyunjinnie <3 (1:55am)  
oof _

Jisung racks his brain for something witty to say. They’ve been at this for a while, back and forth for just over a week, and he’s eager to see if this is going where he hopes it will. It’s _silly_ to think like this, when they barely even know each other, but Jisung knows that’s just him. Always ready to pour his whole heart into every wonderful thing that steps into his life.

He types out a _I could tell you more about it when we meet up again_ , and lets the message sit there, biting his lip and he reads it again. Does it sound too desperate? Too arrogant? Is he breaching Hyunjin’s boundaries of comfort like this?

Sighing, he flops back onto his bed, ignoring his homework (he’s always been more of a two-hours-before-deadline kind of guy, anyway). Forlornly, he stares at his phone, wondering how to get to the topic.

Just then, he remembers Minho’s in the living room, rehearsing something. He’s dated before - he would probably have a better idea of how to do this, right?

Phone clutched to his chest, Jisung wanders out, surprised when he catches sight of the digital clock display in the living room. It’s 2am _already_? He really needs to fix his sleeping habits.

(Also, why is Minho even still awake?)

He stops in the narrow corridor, poking his head into the harshly lit living room, illuminated by the awful fluorescent lights the landlord installed here because it’d been the cheapest option. “Hyung?”

It takes a moment (a very short moment, it’s a small living room), but he finally spots Minho, curled up on the couch, phone loosely held in his hands and earbuds in. There are papers scattered on the floor beside him with lots of little circles on them - he was probably working on dance formations and fell asleep halfway through.

It hurts Jisung’s heart to see his hyung exhausted to this point, and he forgets about the message for a moment, walking over to roll Minho gently on the couch with his knees. “Hyung, go to bed.”

“Hm?” Minho mumbles, eyes fluttering open, before sitting up hastily and squinting at the clock. “Shit. ’Time is it?” He croaks.

“Two. You should go to bed,” Jisung whines. “Don’t you have to teach classes tomorrow?”

The older man sighs, sitting back against the couch and rubbing his eyes, before throwing an arm in the vague direction of the papers. “Can’t.”

“What’s this, anyway?” The producer squats down, looking through the papers. There are big, angry-looking red Xs on some of the circles, and he gets a little apprehensive. Minho’s been known to lose his temper pretty easily (it was worse when he used to drink), and he suspects the dancer’s probably scarier when he’s at work. “Is this the formation for the concert?”

“The one this Saturday? Yeah,” Minho rubs his eyes, grabbing his phone and checking for messages. It’s _two_ – Jisung can’t imagine any of his colleagues bothering him at this hour. “Ugh, I was supposed to get this done an hour ago.”

“This _Saturday_?” Jisung’s eyes widen.

From the corner of his eye, Minho looks up and smirks. “You forgot, right?”

“No, I didn’t!” The younger boy sniffs defensively, but he smiles anyway. They have a tradition going between them – Jisung would show up for Minho’s competitions and concerts, especially those he choreographed for, and buy him flowers, even if he wasn’t the main artist performing. There’s a funny fancam somewhere out there of him carrying a tulip with a little bunch of baby’s breath, obliviously walking past some new star idol group after their concert to pass them to Minho, who’d been part of the background dancer crew at that time. “Why do you even have to redo the formation now, anyway? Isn’t the concert in like, five days?”

Minho rolls his eyes, so hard that it looks like they’re about to fall out of his head. “Don’t even ask.”

Jisung knows that’s his invitation to ask, so he wiggles onto the couch beside the dancer, laying his head on the older boy’s lap expectantly. “Spill the tea.”

Minho sighs, carding a hand through Jisung’s hair slowly (a worthy transaction, by any means). “Someone dropped out of the team. Just confirmed it tonight. There isn’t enough time to bring someone else in, so I have to redo the whole formation by tomorrow morning.”

“Damn. _What_?” the younger boy doesn’t even have to fake his reaction. “That’s awful. Why’d they leave?”

“I don’t know,” the dancer gnaws on his lower lip, before sighing. “Okay, _fine_ , maybe I did call a few of the idiots who were going AWOL for the past few weeks to ask them to come back for practice. Maybe I was a little harsh.”

“Well, I mean, like you said last time right? It’s not fair of them to just constantly not show up and mess up practice for the rest of you guys,” Jisung reaches back from where he’s sprawled on the couch beside Minho, resting his arm against Minho’s stomach and taking his hand.

The older boy smiles down at him fondly, then, as one would with a spoilt puppy who gets fed a lot of expensive food. 

“Yeah, so, whatever. I just want to get this piece over and done with,” Minho rubs his eyes. “If I don’t get a pay raise after this I’m leaving,” he chuckles. “Anyway, why are _you_ even awake at this time?”

Jisung suddenly remembers the text, and jackknifes up, almost knocking into Minho. “Oh no!” _I left him on read!_

“What happened?” Minho winces.

“I uhm,” Jisung checks his phone nervously. _Here goes nothing._ “I just wanted to ask you hyung. Uhm. You know. If you uhm…”

The older boy is watching him strangely. His eyes dart away, then come back again – he’d looked sleepy before, but there’s an odd sort of alertness about him now. “Yes?”

“The thing is…well…” Jisung squeaks. “I like someone!”

Emotions flit across Minho’s face, each one too quick for Jisung to see. Eventually, it settles on masterfully concealed surprise, something Jisung’s only familiar with because of how long they’ve known each other. “Uh huh?”

“And, see, well…I _really_ want to ask him out,” the younger boy says, trying to hide how excited he is, as he wriggles onto Minho’s lap again. “We’ve known each other for a while and I think…I think he’s really special, hyung.”

“Uh _huh_ ,” Minho says it slower this time, beginning to stroke Jisung’s hair again. It’s difficult to read his expression – it’s sort of the same quiet, trepid look he’d have at his competitions when they’re waiting for placings.

“I was wondering…if you’d know…”

“How to ask someone out?”

Jisung brightens, grabbing Minho’s hand and looking up at him hopefully.

The older boy laughs, continuing to pet his head indulgently with his other hand. “Well, if you know he likes you back, then just be yourself. See if there are any movies he likes, or places he wants to eat. Ask him to go with you.”

It sounds so _simple_ when Minho puts it like that ( _gosh_ , Minho-hyung is so smart), and Jisung tunes out for a second, trying to think if Hyunjin’s mentioned any movies or cravings recently. He barely catches what Minho says next.

“…he like?”

“Huh?” Jisung says unattractively, and Minho chuckles. He sounds uncharacteristically tense.

“I was saying, if you describe him, I could,” he shrugs. “I’d know better.”

“Oh,” again, the younger boy feels nervous – if Minho’s still not on good terms with Hyunjin, it’s better not to say too much. “Well, uhm, he’s really nice, and confident, and handsome…”

The other boy rolls his eyes, smiling, and Jisung flushes. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“Okay, okay, continue.”

“And we always have lots of stuff to talk about. It’s always so easy to talk to him, you know? It’s like uhm, like-…”

“Like he always knows what you’re going to say?”

“Exactly!” Jisung beams at Minho from where he’s sprawled on his lap, the other boy still watching him closely, soft, dark eyes fixed on him, delicate lips slightly parted. “And he’s interested in arts, just like me. He works really hard in what he does, he has a lot of passion for his craft, which is just so cool to see – he’s a dancer!”

Minho nods slowly. His voice is funny when he speaks, his tone going up and wavering slightly at the end. “Uh huh…?”

“And…well…” Jisung looks away, trying to think – what else is nice about Hyunjin? “And…”

 _Right_ , how could he forget.

“Also, he’s my age!” the younger boy laughs. “And that makes it all the more easier to talk to him, you know, because we can talk about school, and job-hunting, and hanging out with friends and going for parties…stuff like that, you know?”

He looks up at Minho, blinking. Up to this point, he hadn’t even realised the other boy had stopped petting his hair.

“Hyung?”

“Mhm,” Minho says, after a moment. He nods, looking around, anywhere but Jisung. “Right.”

“I think…” Jisung trails off, blushing. “I think he could really be my soulmate, hyung.”

When he looks up at Minho again, the older boy is watching him, and Jisung’s once more possessed by that familiar feeling, like they’ve been here before, all alone, waiting for something Jisung can’t quite put his finger on.

It makes Jisung hesitate. Because this feeling’s always been something he’d put down to just Minho, Minho and the wonderful, otherworldly enigma he is, untouchable and full of a lovely mystery, but now, the tension in the air around them makes him wonder if he’s wrong.

_But wrong how…?_

Then he has a fleeting, silly thought - it’s a thought he’s only ever entertained once or twice before, doused in wistful thinking, something their friends have said…what if… _what if him and Minho_ …?

But no, that’s a stupid thought, they’re _worlds_ apart, Minho’s got his life and Jisung has his own. Besides, his soulmate’s someone he already knew back when he was fifteen, and he only met Minho after, right?

“You really think so?”

Jisung blinks again, trying to process Minho’s question, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. He’s trying to put into coherent thought the mess of emotions that’d just rushed through him, like a train full of memories at a station no one uses anymore.

“Yeah,” he says absent-mindedly. “I think so.”

There’s silence for a while more, as Jisung’s lost in thought, before he feels Minho touch his shoulder. The dancer is smiling wearily, suddenly looking a lot more tired. “You should go to sleep, Sungie. Long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jisung repeats, stumbling up, barely remembering to take his phone. “You too.”

He zombie-walks to the tiny hallway, turning back just once to see Minho sitting on the floor now, hunched over his drawn-up plans, unmoving and silent. Under the harsh light, suddenly the cramped living room seems to expand, tiles and walls stretching up and outwards, until it’s just Minho.

Just his hyung, sitting all alone in that big, empty space.

Jisung wants to go back. He wants to return and pick up off of a conversation he doesn’t know if they ever had. But he doesn’t.

Confused, his chest full of feelings he can’t put into words, he walks back to his room, and closes the door.

*

_you (11:40am)  
so let me get this straight  
you don’t like mom’s touch fried chicken??????_

_hyunjinnie <3 (11:41am)  
no :/  
i just don’t like the greasy taste  
idk I think it’s overrated_

_you (11:41am)  
im so shook_

_hyunjinnie <3 (11:43am)  
haha  
whoops :’)_

Jisung thinks long and hard as he tries to balance his second-hand textbooks and laptop in one arm, phone in the other. He lets the pile collapse messily onto the study table, drawing a dirty look from the girl at the next table.

_you (11:43am)  
then…  
any movies catch your eye recently??_

Jisung winces at that one. Good grief, Minho-hyung would’ve been able to put it across _much_ better. _But then again…_

It’s been days since that conversation with Minho, and yet the thought of everything he’d felt that night still makes him a little nervous. _What_ had been going on in his heart all that time?

Things are...easier, with Hyunjin, Jisung decides.

_hyunjinnie <3 (11:44am)  
haha not really  
although…_

Jisung perks up here, watching his phone intently.

_hyunjinnie <3 (11:44am)  
are u free for a call now? :)_

Oh my goodness. Stay calm. Stay _fucking calm!!_ _What’s the procedure!!_

_you (11:45am)  
sure haha :)  
like  
now?  
or  
I mean now is fine  
or later  
what I mean is_

Jisung’s phone starts buzzing, and he panics, seeing Hyunjin’s number flash up. _Here goes nothing_.

“Yeah?” he says, hurrying away from the study area, hoping his voice isn’t trembling too much. His heart is pumping hard in his chest, and he leans against a wall near a vending machine, hoping he’s not sticking out too much in his old hoodie and jeans as preppy arts students continue to stream by. “I mean. Hello. How – how are you?”

“I’m great, thanks,” Hyunjin sounds busy – he’s probably calling him in between lessons, but Jisung can still hear the warmth in his voice. “How are you?”

“Pretty busy, I mean, school and stuff, you know,” Jisung scuffs his old sneakers against the vending machine out of habit, then looks around furtively for security cameras. “How’s, uhm, how’s…” _uhhh…wait, he’s got that concert this Saturday with Minho right?_ “How’s prep for your concert coming up tomorrow?”

“Concert?” Hyunjin sounds confused.

“Yeah, you’ve got one on Saturday, right?” Jisung asks, scratching his head. “I heard from M-…uh, I heard from Felix. You’re part of the crew rostered for that concert, right?”

“Oh, _that_ ,” the other boy replies. “Um, I dropped out of the piece.”

Jisung’s mouth opens, then closes.

_What…?_

“Dropped out?”

_So it was Hyunjin. Hyunjin was the one who left._

“Yeah, the practice timings were really starting to affect my Youtube stuff,” Hyunjin sighs. “And the crew leader’s kind of super rigid about the practice timing. I mean,” Jisung can feel the eyeroll over the phone, “I get that that’s when most of the others can make it, but it just doesn’t really fit my schedule, and he didn’t have to be so mean about it, anyway.”

“Ah?” _Minho did admit that he was a little harsh…_

“Besides, I’ve had so much to do lately…it was kind of affecting my mental health. I actually didn’t want to leave, but I asked a couple of the crew about it and they said I should put my health first,” there’s a rustle as Hyunjin shrugs. “So I actually didn’t plan to leave, but they told me to, so I did.”

Jisung organises his brain cells again, searching for the most appropriate response to this revelation. “Are you alright now, though?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me Sungie,” Hyunjin laughs. “I don’t really need the crew stuff anymore, anyway, with my Youtube vlogs. How’s school been on your end, anyway?”

“It’s been…” Jisung has to step out of the way as a girl comes over to use the vending machine with her boyfriend, wrinkling her nose and commenting about the mud scuff marks on the corner. “It’s been pretty tough, I guess. Tests and stuff coming up, the normal.”

“Oh man, that sounds rough,” Hyunjin clicks his tongue, pausing for a moment. “Listen, there’s this party coming up soon, I got invited because of Youtube connections and they said I could bring someone, so I was wondering…”

Jisung’s throat goes dry, previous events completely forgotten. _Is this really happening?_

“Do you want to-…”

“ _Yes_! I mean, I’m sorry for interrupting. But yeah, that uhm,” the producer clears his throat, trying to sound casual. “That sounds pretty cool.”

“Great, haha,” Hyunjin laughs. “It’s at Club Cream in Hongdae, you know the one, right?”

“Uhm,” Jisung nods, sweating. Forget the fact he’s never been to Club Cream…he’s never even been to a _club_. “Yeah, sure, I’ll figure it out.”

“Anyway, I thought it’d be pretty great, since you’ll probably get to meet other artists there and link up with industry partners, right?” Hyunjin continues. Jisung can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he nods again, genuinely excited this time. Imagine being able to signal boost 3RACHA on his own! “Thanks for the offer!”

“No problem, I just, you know. I really want you to be there,” Hyunjin laughs again, and _that_ gets Jisung going, lost in his cotton candy cloud of happiness for a second. _Hyunjin_ wants _him_ to go to a party together! “So, Club Cream tomorrow at eight, okay?”

“Yeah! Of course!”

“Okay, see you Jisungie,” Hyunjin calls, giggling. “Gotta go for lessons now, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, now a little more distracted, because _tomorrow_ … “Wait hang on-…”

The call ends, and he runs his hand through his hair, hastily opening his calendar app just to make sure, before groaning.

_Minho-hyung’s concert is on Saturday. Which is also tomorrow. What now?_

He bites his lip as he walks back to his study table, slumping onto the bench and irking the same girl from before (shut up and pay attention to your lecture, _Sohee_ ).

Jisung opens his Kakaotalk, thumb hovering over the top two most recent conversations, flopping down onto his books to stare forlornly at the battered screen.

He manages to procrastinate it through two seminars, a tutorial and two assignments, but the end of the day comes and he surrenders, finally settling on one. Jisung types in a couple of messages and sends them immediately, eyes screwed shut, like the texts are going to burn him if they stick around any longer.

_you (7:29pm)  
heyy im really sorry  
i know I said i would go tmr but i don’t think i can make it TnT  
next time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh
> 
> thank you to everyone who commented! you guys really help me to keep writing (and everything else haha) ;u; 
> 
> also i started a 30-day challenge with my friends in april to push me to write more, so hopefully this means i'll be able to write more! i'm pushing through with the next chapter of surrender in between work, aiming to post sometime this coming week, will be updating on twitter! ;u;
> 
> stay safe everyone ;u; thank you in advance for your comments and kudos!
> 
> let's be friends! ;u;  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (locked for qrts but i will accept your follow!!) ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) 


	6. 006.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you (7:29pm)_   
>  _heyy im really sorry_   
>  _i know I said i would go tmr but i don’t think i can make it TnT_   
>  _next time?_

Jisung carefully straightens out the petals of the tulips in his bouquet, taking a step back to admire the way the colours complement each other. He arranges the little notecard tied to the ribbon carefully – _for Minho-hyungiee~~,_ written in his trying-to-be-neat scrawl.

Satisfied, he sets that aside, before peering into the reflective glass of the studio window worriedly, hoping his hair is alright. It’s been a rushed day today, managing a group project discussion and some lectures, before bussing down to work on his music and, of course, pick up the bouquet. Of course, working on his makeup and clothes would be a lot harder without Minho around...

“Hyu-…oh, Sungie?” Changbin walks into the studio, arms full of equipment. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m just getting ready before going! Thanks for letting me leave my stuff here first,” Jisung says, flailing over to help offload some of the stuff from Changbin’s arms. “Are you going to be here alone?”

“Chan said he was coming over,” Changbin’s eyeing the bouquet, as they set the peripherals down. “Is that…for Minho?”

“Yep!” Jisung says, plugging in the soundboard and headset. “Was _super_ expensive, don’t tell him that, he’s going to kill me for spending so much, but I just wanted it to give him something nice. Where do you want the synthesiser jack, hyung?”

He looks up, and blinks when he finds Changbin watching him pensively.

“Hyung?”

“Sungie, are you sure about this?”

Jisung holds the synthesiser jack to his chest. “What?”

“About tonight,” Changbin leans against the desk, arms folded across his chest. “About, you know…”

“…about…going to the party with Hyunjin?” Jisung finishes uncertainly. He presses his lips together. “Felix told you, didn’t he?”

Changbin half-shrugs, half-nods. “Look, it’s just – you always go for Minho’s concerts, right? I know you do, you always text us to go with you when they’re coming up.”

Jisung’s stomach twists uneasily, a little, at this point. Minho hadn’t been so much shocked and upset when Jisung texted him that he couldn’t go as he was… _resigned_ , like he'd seen it coming.

The dancer’s definitely feeling hurt, though - Jisung knows all the stages like the back of his hand: first the semi-confrontation, then the cold shoulder, then brusque acceptance of whatever peace offerings have been made and apologies, after which they would eat fried chicken delivery and watch a bad movie together.

They’re currently at stage 2, having glossed weirdly over stage 1, and Jisung’s hoping to speed them up to stage 3 as soon as he can, hence the bouquet. There’s a bad feeling he gets whenever things aren’t right between him and Minho. He wouldn’t call it anxiety, because he knows what that feels like and it’s not – it’s just a feeling that things are wrong.

Although, with the weird stuff that’s been going on between them these few weeks…Jisung doesn’t really know what to feel anymore.

“It’s okay hyung, I’ve got it all planned out,” Jisung tries to strike a cheesy pose. “I’m going to go for the party, leave a little early, grab the bouquet on the way home, and then surprise Minho just in time when he comes back from his post-concert celebration!”

“You put a lot of thought into this,” Changbin notes, raising a brow.

“Of course,” Jisung smiles, finishing with the setup before picking up his bag. “I’ll probably be back early.”

“Jisung, listen,” the older man stops him on his way out with a hand on his shoulder. He fixes Jisung with a reluctant look. “Do you really want to go for this party?”

“Hyung,” Jisung frowns – just _why_ is everyone so _against_ him? “It’s a bit too late to change anything now, don’t you think?”

“I’m not just talking about this party. You know what I mean, right?” the other songwriter says uncomfortably. For someone who always writes such great love songs, Changbin’s awful at talking about feelings – it’s a good thing Felix takes emotional payment in sad songs and unsolicited aegyo. “I’m just talking about like, in general. What you’re choosing here. Is…is _this_ …what you really want?”

“That’s for me to find out, right?” The usual underlying anxiety that eats at the edges of Jisung’s mind is starting to rear its ugly head, and it makes him defensive. “Hyung, I’m not like you, or Chan. I wish I had my life together like you guys, but I don’t. Just let me figure this out, okay?” he takes a step away from Changbin, glancing back reproachfully. “See you later, hyung.”

On the train later, alone in a sea of people, his stomach clenches uneasily, and he leans against the carriage wall, bag clutched to his chest, feeling suddenly very alone.

He doesn’t know where to even start with it – he’s just so _sick_ of not understanding what’s going on around him when everyone else seems to know, of being treated like just a kid by everyone. It's a mix of his own childish insecurity, and stubborn defiance.

There’s a fatigue and a familiarity in the way Changbin and Chan treat him, like he’s just the little boy he’d been when he first met them, and a thrill in the way he feels around Hyunjin – like he’s more than that, someone grown and capable of messing his own life up. He grips his bag tight, letting the momentary frustration pass.

_But what about Minho?_

What _about_ Minho, Jisung asks back defensively. Because Minho…he’s just sort of a mix of everything. It’s difficult to put it into words.

He’s not above babying Jisung, which is nice, but at the same time, he listens to him. He gives him control. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Jisung is sick of not knowing how much he’s allowed to want, or how much he should be giving.

All he knows is that thinking about the dancer makes him feel a strange way, like there are flower petals filling the cavity of his chest, threatening to blossom out of his throat and choke him.

He flicks through Instagram as the subway creaks from station to station, pausing on Felix’s latest post. It’s a HD photo with a melancholic sort of filter, and it’s Minho in the foreground – or at least, his reflection, at the crest of a group of other dancers, all in shades of black and grey. They’re in a studio, all captured in the exact same beat of some complex choreography.

As always, Jisung finds his gaze drifting to Minho – his beautiful eyes are burning and fixed on the mirror, lips slightly parted, probably counting or correcting their formation.

He scrolls down to the comments, falling back into old habits though he still remembers how awful it feels. There’s a bunch of comments under Felix’s caption of _“subcrew osiris fighting!!”_ , all witty and sweet and made by pretty, pretty people, probably with a stable career and over a thousand online followers.

He makes the mistake of looking up, and catching his reflection in the blackness of the subway windows. And all he sees suddenly is an awkward-looking kid, too scared of taking off his training wheels but too embarrassed to admit them either – makeup suddenly big, clumsy crayon marks on his face, too skinny and too short and too alone.

There’s something Chan once said about one of his songs – “ _wow, it’s like you know exactly how I felt”,_ he’d laughed, and Jisung had laughed too. Not because he was happy, but because it was funny that Chan should say that. Because behind all of Jisung’s songs was a unified, broken plea, begging someone to _please tell me you know how I feel._

Just an awkward little kid, face and hands pressed to the glass, tears running down his face, mouthing the same words over and over again. _Please tell me I’m not alone._

Jisung locks his phone, ignoring the photo, hugging his bag to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut, letting a long breath escape through his nose.

The subway rumbles on and away, the minutes trickling away like rain off the windows.

*

“…that’s crazy!” Hyunjin says, over the sound of the bass pounding through the floor. Prior to today, Jisung _had_ wondered why he never visited a club with his uni friends before, and all that realisation sinks in now.

It’s so _loud_ and dark and blinding at the same time, stifling hot from the speakers and the warm bodies, but every now and again he’ll get attacked by a stray gust of air-conditioning, making the sweat on his body prickle unpleasantly.

“Yeah!” Jisung has to shout over the music, struggling to keep up with Hyunjin. “So I was just this five-year-old kid, stuck under that motorcycle in the parking lot, screaming my lungs out-…”

He gets interrupted by a waiter bearing alcohol, and, out of politeness, takes one of the drinks, some fancy looking thing in a whiskey glass with an interesting cherry on the side. Grimacing when he takes a sip, he realises Hyunjin hadn’t taken a glass – he’s really good at avoiding drinks.

“Anyway,” Jisung clears his throat (this drink tastes so _bad_ ). “It was so embarrassing because this _kid_ and his parents had to run over and dig me out of the…” he trails off, realising that half of this is probably going unheard thanks to the music. Suddenly he feels incredibly stupid, trying to talk about this at all. Hyunjin probably doesn’t want to hear his lame stories, anyway.

“That sounds really rough,” Hyunjin replies, though Jisung’s not entirely sure if he’s talking to him or one of the friends that he keeps bumping into over here.

He’s starting to feel exceptionally unnecessary, until Hyunjin suddenly turns around with a blinding smile and a sweet giggle. “It’s so hot here, don’t you think? Let’s go find somewhere to sit down.”

Jisung nods, trying not to appear too eager – he’s tired of walking around in this dark, crowded place.

He follows Hyunjin up the spiral stairs to a glamorous mezzanine. It’s much quieter and cooler here, with cozy little seats and glass tables next to a bar, and Hyunjin manages to snag an empty table near the back despite how busy the place is.

It’s mostly small groups and couples here, chatting and laughing over drinks. The bar is a marble-topped, grand thing, with just two couples and a boy at the other end, nursing a drink and chatting with the pretty bartender.

Jisung settles opposite Hyunjin, trying to hide his excitement.

“It’s so much better here,” the dancer laments, looking at his phone. He keeps glancing over at the bar, for some reason. “I thought I was going to suffocate in all the people just now.”

“Yeah, this is way better,” Jisung enthuses, now rethinking his seating decisions. _I should’ve sat next to Hyunjin on the loveseat. But that’s a bit too weird right now, right? And the opposite side would be empty. What if I-…_

“Anyway, it’s okay if my friend joins us, right?” Hyunjin says, flashing a bright smile. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, sure,” the other boy replies, trying not to sound disappointed. _Maybe this friend’s just stopping by_. “…So, um, anyway, we were talking about-…”

He’s stopped as someone drifts towards them, just about _towering_ over their little glass table. It’s the boy from the bar just now, in his black jeans and a fashionably oversized white button-down, with a head of soft brown hair and unassuming, schoolboy features.

If he smiled, he’d probably look like a puppy, but right now his face is fixed in an expression of cold apathy.

It’s a little bit scary.

What happens next registers as a little strange for Jisung – Hyunjin stands, walking over to Jisung’s side and settling down gracefully beside the producer. “Oh, Seungmin, this is Jisung, he’s the one I was talking about. Jisung, this is Seungmin, he’s a singer, and he’s our age.”

“Oh?” Jisung is slightly confused. Maybe this is what networking is about – after all, this _is_ still a work trip for Hyunjin, not a time to relax and chat. “It’s nice to meet you, Seungmin.”

Seungmin sits in the recently vacated loveseat opposite Hyunjin, lifting a hand to fix his hair. Jisung’s gaze catches on the watch on his wrist – he knows watches, thanks to Changbin and Chan, and that watch could probably pay off his scholarship bond. “Likewise. It’s nice to meet you too, Jisung.”

“Anyway, Seungmin, Jisung’s a producer, his first album’s coming out soon,” Hyunjin continues with a smug undertone, and Jisung spirals further into confusion, particularly at the flat expression Seungmin’s fixing him with. “Seungmin’s training in a company and does covers online, Sungie, and I just think his voice would _really_ suit some of the songs that your group is doing.”

“Oh? That’s great, Jinnie,” Jisung says, still trying to abate the thundercloud hanging over Seungmins’ head. Does Hyunjin not _sense_ the weird tension here?

“He’s kind of busy now, but he said he’d love to work with you guys for a feature,” Hyunjin continues, before letting out a musical laugh. “Doesn’t that take the weight off your shoulders? That you’ve already got an artist to feature on your debut album?”

“Yeah, sure,” the producer says distractedly. It _does_ sound nice when Hyunjin puts it like that, though he’s not even sure if Chan and Changbin want to work with another artist right now. Also, isn't this guy just a trainee? “So, uh…”

“Great!” Hyunjin smiles, leaning into him with a smile. “I’ll just let Felix know you said yes, and we can settle all the other stuff later.”

Jisung’s heart flutters, feeling Hyunjin’s perfumed warmth against him, and he laughs. “Yeah, that sounds really good.”

The flutter dies down momentarily as Seungmin stands, checking his phone.

Then he looks at Hyunjin.

Looking back on this moment, Jisung can only describe what happens next in slow motion, every second punctuated with the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears, because that’s how it happens to him.

Seungmin leans over, tilting Hyunjin’s chin up to press a kiss on his lips, before straightening back up. Jisung realises belatedly that they’re holding hands – the dancer must’ve reached out to take his when they kissed. “I’ll be at the bar. Let me know when you’re done here.”

Or at least, that’s what Jisung _thinks_ he says. It’s getting a little hard to hear anything over the clown music playing in the background soundtrack of his life.

He watches the singer walk back to the bar, getting on a stool and exchanging a few choice words with the bartender, an icy-looking girl who glances over at Jisung, before her lips curl in a cruel, pretty, inaudible laugh.

Jisung only realises his mouth’s been open the whole time until he closes it. His voice sounds like a frog when he talks again. “Is that-…uh, is that your…?”

“Oh, Seungminnie?” Hyunjin looks a lot happier now, like he’s glowing. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend. He _never_ pays attention to me, though,” Hyunjin fixes his phone with a faux pout, probably sending a text. “You know it took me forever to get him to come to this party?”

The clown music playing in Jisung’s head intensifies. Vaguely, he imagines himself looking into a hidden camera somewhere right now, like he’s on an episode of The Office.

“Why?” Hyunjin looks up innocently, then, pretty eyes fixed on Jisung. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, it’s just,” Jisung shakes his head, stumbling over his words, feeling progressively stupider with every second. Everything is starting to make sense now – why Hyunjin invited him for this party, why he only ever took interest in Jisung after finding out he was a producer. “I didn’t-…you never mentioned you had a boyfriend.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought I did,” Hyunjin giggles. “Anyway, you’ve probably got a lot of people to meet and stuff here, right?”

“I-…maybe, yeah.” _No. No, because I came to this party for you_.

“I won’t hold you back,” Hyunjin stands, waving his phone with a half-smile. “I’ll text Felix to tell Changbin about the feature, so don’t worry about that! Have fun, I’ll see you around!”

“Okay,” Jisung says, standing on autopilot, heading towards the stairs, because that’s the only perceivable exit to this situation. He’s handling this surprisingly well, he thinks – he even smiles and waves goodbye as he heads off.

Turning back, he sees Hyunjin settle at the bar beside Seungmin, leaning over to tousle his hair playfully. He sees the dozy smile that Seungmin returns, reserved and fond.

Jisung walks straight to the exit, politely returns the ticket for his belongings, takes his bag and heads out of the club.

*

The subway ride passes in a blur – it’s really _strange_ , because Jisung supposes that he should be feeling pretty devastated about the events of tonight. After all, Hyunjin is his soulmate…right?

Maybe it’s because of how ridiculous this whole thing is in hindsight, how much of a joke his life turned out to be, that Jisung doesn’t have the emotional capacity to feel sad. He just feels kind of stupid.

Really stupid.

He looks up blankly at the blinking lights on the subway map, trying to remember where he’s supposed to go. Home? No, he doesn’t want to process whatever that happened tonight alone.

The studio. It’s five stops away. Jisung suddenly feels a rush of comfort – Chan and Changbin will be there, and he can tell them everything, right? He can already see it, Chan rolling his eyes and shaking his head, telling him to be more careful next time, and Changbin flat out pointing and guffawing at him. That’s all this is – a bad joke he happened to be the butt of, something he can brush off and look back on to laugh at.

(Then maybe some cuddles. Lots of cuddles. That sounds good.)

He walks fast once he’s off the subway through the relatively empty tunnels (it is pretty late, after all), heading up a familiar way towards the studio building. It’s part of an office district, a couple of floors out of many in a tall glass and steel building.

It’s quiet as he approaches their usual room on the sixth floor, the one at the end of the corridor – Chan and Changbin must be deep in work. As unobtrusively as possible, he taps his keycard and pushes open the door, and stops.

It’s empty. Their stuff is still there, laptops open, but the room is devoid of life. Huh. They probably went down to grab a snack at the FamilyMart, or something.

Jisung checks his watch hesitantly, then walks over, grabbing the bouquet he’d left here for Minho. Maybe he’ll catch the other two, have a quick chat, then go home and prepare for when Minho gets back.

He’s at the lobby by the time he catches the two familiar silhouettes walking past the main door, and breaks out in a big smile. _Just in time_.

Scuttling out, bag bouncing on his shoulders and bouquet in both hands, he slows to a stop, watching Chan and Changbin round the corner of the building into the alley. _Huh, that’s…weird_.

Feeling a growing sense of unease, Jisung walks gingerly over to the corner, before stopping just before the turn, back to the wall.

“…but, anyway, that’s what they said,” Chan’s voice comes within earshot. He sounds tired.

There’s a familiar _crack_ sound – it’s a lighter, and a few beats later, Jisung smells something acrid. Changbin sighs, and there’s the soft rattle of a cigarette box.

For a moment, Jisung is shocked. Not just because Changbin’s broken his one-year smoking hiatus, but because he’s doing it in front of Chan, who hasn’t said a word in protest. _Oh_ , Felix would _not_ be happy if he found out Changbin was smoking again.

 _Why, though? He hasn’t touched a cigarette since he quit last year_.

“And this happened at the rooftop mixer?” Changbin says. There’s a rustle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, and Jisung can almost see it – the same thing he used to do when they first formed a team, when Jisung would follow him out of curiosity up to the rooftop of their old studio for his smoke breaks, and perch on some old crates, listening in amusement, as the older boy lectured him for half an hour on the bad effects of nicotine. “That’s what they wanted to talk to you alone about?”

 _They’re talking about our contract_ , Jisung realises. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach intensifies. His hands are starting to shake – a petal from one of the tulips falls, drifting down onto a bed of dead leaves.

“Yeah,” Chan mumbles.

“But _why_?” Changbin asks. He sounds unusually aggressive, considering he’s talking to Chan. “What changed their mind, hyung?”

_Do they not want to sign us anymore?_

“I have a feeling that was their idea from the start. They just knew we’d say no,” Chan sighs. The crushing anxiety in Jisung’s chest mixes with confusion, then – _so what is it they want?_

“Have you told him yet?”

“Of course I haven’t,” Chan’s starting to sound like he’s losing his patience. “You _know_ him, you know he’ll probably take this badly.”

 _They’re talking about me,_ Jisung realises slowly. The words are starting to feel like hammers, swung around to smash into the back of his head. His heart, pounding in his chest, sends little knives along his arteries and veins, cutting him up from the inside out.

Then Changbin speaks again, voice lower now, like a growl.

“What’s wrong with all three of us promoting, anyway?”

_…What?_

“Nothing,” Chan says sharply. There’s a rustle, like he’s standing. “Look, Changbin, you don’t think I asked them these questions too? Of course they gave a bunch of bullshit answers, that they don’t want to sign a university student, that he’s too young, but that’s never stopped a company before, right? Look at big entertainment companies, falling over themselves to snap up underage kids to pander to their fucked up fanbases,” his voice wavers and cracks. “They didn't give me a reason, Changbin.”

There’s a weighted pause, before Changbin exhales.

Smoke furls out of the narrow alley. Jisung can almost see the older man then, standing there in the darkness, cigarette between two fingers, eyes a little bloodshot, getting ash all over his expensive sneakers.

“So that’s it, then,” he says, quietly. The silence stretches on for forever, the cacophony of anxiety building a steady crescendo in Jisung's head, until he wishes he could cut it open, one neat line from ear to ear, to take it all away. Until Changbin speaks again.

“They just don’t want Jisung."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispering* why are we still here? just to suffer? 
> 
> i realise jisung tends to get put through A Lot in all my fics and i am: sorry, good things are going to happen real soon i promise!!
> 
> i'll probably be trying to alternate between updating this and surrender on a regular basis ;u; thanks for reading!! despite the fact that we're five chapters in and jisung is still in The Nile. also i haven't actually heard a lot about how you guys think this is going to end... curious hmm hehe
> 
> stay safe guys!
> 
> let's be friends! ;u;  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (locked for qrts but i will accept your follow!!) ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) 


	7. 007.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So that’s it, then,” he says, quietly. The silence stretches on for forever, the cacophony of anxiety building a steady crescendo in Jisung's head, until he wishes he could cut it open, one neat line from ear to ear, to take it all away. Until Changbin speaks again.
> 
> “They just don’t want Jisung."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: allusions to suicide

Jisung doesn’t realise he’s crying until he realises he can’t breathe. He looks down at the bouquet in his hands – the tulip petals are glistening with tears in the streetlight.

“Well,” Changbin sounds more pained now. “What’d you tell them?”

Against his better judgement, Jisung leans in, until he can just glimpse the silhouette of Chan leaning against the length of bicycle racks lining the wall. He has his face in his hands, suddenly looking a lot smaller and older – of course he would, he’s been chasing this dream so much longer than either of them have. He speaks in barely above a whisper. “Of course I said no.”

Jisung lets out a shuddering breath, taking a step back and walking way, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He looks up just in time to stop himself from walking into someone near the entrance.

"Sorry, I-..."

“Jisung?” _Oh no_ , it’s Jimin, standing there in a loose black hoodie, eyes wide and looking at him in concern. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” the younger boy tries to laugh, though smiling just makes the tears fall faster. He almost glances back, then forces himself not to. “Noona, c-can you not-…not tell Chan I was here?”

“What happened?” Jimin asks, sounding increasingly worried, glancing in the direction Jisung'd come from. Panic shoots through Jisung's veins, hoping like hell that Chan won't hear her.

“I’m going home. Thank you noona,” Jisung hugs his bouquet tighter, walking off before Jimin can ask any more questions. _Please don’t tell Chan. Please don’t tell Chan._

He actually gets to the pavement towards the main road before there’s the sound of hurried footsteps catching up to him.

“Jisung!” Despite himself, Jisung stops, shrouded in the darkness on the roadside, turning around. Jimin sighs, gesturing to the sky. “How are you getting home?”

Jisung realises, finally, that he has no idea. “Subway?”

“The subways are closed, silly,” Jimin nods to the car across the road. “Let me drive you home.”

“No, noona, I can walk-…”

“It’s dark, it’s not safe,” she chastises him gently, nudging him towards the car. “Come on, it'll be fast.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, but he follows Jimin mutely.

He doesn’t know where he wants to go now. Or forever. He just wants to go away.

“Work ended early today so I was planning to just head over here and wait for you guys in the studio,” Jimin makes casual conversation as she unlocks the car, a roomy Toyota that Jisung’s sat in the backseat enough times to unofficially qualify as Jimin and Chan’s actual son.

She takes out her phone, keychains rattling against the steering wheel, as Jisung bows his head to get into the passenger seat, and Jisung just catches her firing off a text to someone – it’s not Chan, though, he knows because he and Felix hacked Jimin's phone a year ago and forcibly added a ton of hearts into Chan’s ID, something she'd never bothered to change back. “Wearing your seatbelt?”

Jisung complies mechanically. He doesn’t want to let go of the bouquet, though.

“Nice flowers. Who are they for?”

“Minho,” the younger boy mumbles. Jimin _ahh_ s quietly, but doesn’t ask any more questions, instead turning on the radio to a Sam Kim song and driving off.

The trip home is surprisingly _long_ , considering Jimin's plied this route numerous times. She makes a couple of wrong turns and doesn’t seem very bothered about them, and stops at a GS25 halfway to pick something up, so a drive that should’ve taken 10 minutes turns into half an hour.

Jisung doesn’t particularly mind, though. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, now, and Jimin makes this easier, Jimin, with her dry humour and smile, who doesn’t ask him intrusive questions or pity him. The smell of their car’s always reminded him of home, and it also helps that she gets back into the car from her convenience store pit stop with a pint of ice cream, that she passes to Jisung, before ruffling his hair. “Feel better soon, bub.”

It’s way past midnight by the time Jisung gets back to the apartment, and tries not to let the silence set in too much as he meanders to the tiny living room, letting his bag and the flowers slide down onto the floor, before dumping himself onto the old sofa.

Finally, he begins to think again.

_Is there something wrong with me?_

He toys with a stray thread on the sofa, staring ahead at the blank television. _Something must be wrong. Something is wrong with me and that’s why all these bad things are happening. That’s why I’m not good enough for Hyunjin, and I’m not good enough to do music._

So what is it? How can he fix it?

_Is it even worth fixing?_

He’s spent his whole life trying to fix himself. That’s the only reason why he writes songs at all, just to figure out if he’s crazy or just struggling.

Normal or defective. Stay or go.

There’s a bag of charcoal briquettes under the sink. Chan used it for a barbeque at their place once, then left it here, saying they’ll just use it next time. It’s been there for close to a year. There are matches in the kitchen, and long, white tea towels in the closet beside the bathroom he could soak, line them under his bedroom door.

Thinking about it used to be a coping mechanism – like a knowing there’s a little back exit in a locked room, a place he can run away to if it gets too much. Sometimes he’d think about how he’d do it, run the steps through in his head from start to end.

Jisung rolls over on the sofa, staring at the flaking ceiling. He knows depression is a casual thing for him, like it probably is for a lot of other people his age – so he should just be able to get over it, right?

Man up and pretend nothing ever happened, right?

Maybe if he lies here long enough, something will happen. Something will distract him, make him forget about it again until the next thing comes along that makes him want to end it all.

Most of time, it’d be Minho, sending him a meme or a new song he thought Jisung would like, or Chan and Changbin, discussing music or arguing about food. For the past few weeks, it’d been Hyunjin.

Now, everything is quiet. Everything is quiet and it’s his fault.

_There’s something wrong with me. That’s why when I do all these bad things, I don’t even realise it until I’m punished. I am a bad person._

There’s a low, dull ache in his chest, like the stone in his heart is pressing up against his sternum, threatening to snap his ribs until the bones pierce his lungs.

He closes his eyes, curling up on the worn fabric, feeling the ache spread through his chest. As always, there’s a little part of him telling him to hold on, and the other part of him, getting louder, that despises that bit. _Just go. Hurry up and go_.

Then, the door lock turns.

And just like that, all the sound is sucked from the room, like a quietened shore before a tsunami.

It takes a while for Jisung to realise why this is strange – Minho shouldn’t be back so soon, his post-concert celebrations usually go on till four or five in the morning.

He straightens up slowly, chest suddenly filled with an odd, limbo kind of dread, separate from everything else that’s happening right now. He’s not ready to see anyone, even Minho, but he can’t move to run. The door swings open, and Jisung flinches, but despite everything, he can’t turn away.

Minho steps in, pulling the half mask he’d been wearing down to his chin, closing the door behind him with his other hand. Everything is silent except for him, the silken rustle of fabric as he walks into the living room down the short hallway and lets his bag slip off his shoulder. He’s still wearing his dance clothes, a loose white dress shirt and black pants, eyes lined with something dark and glittering – he hadn’t even changed out before coming back.

Then he looks up from his bag at Jisung, who’s still on the couch, legs gathered to his chest, body wound like he’s going to run at any moment but can’t.

Jisung knows that he’s going to remember whatever happens in the next few seconds for the rest of his life. It’s already happened twice tonight already, and he can feel the bitterness hitting the back of his throat in a last-ditch attempt at defence, bracing for another blow.

“Jisung?” Minho says – his voice sounds warm. Solid. Real. The silence is fading the more he draws closer, like the dawn breaking through fog from the night.

Automatically, not really knowing why, Jisung reaches out, and it’s like Minho mirrors that movement. His hands feel like warm cotton when they touch Jisung’s, the warmth racing up Jisung’s arms, following the light trail of Minho’s fingers towards his chest, then circling around to his back as Minho draws the younger boy into his arms. “It’s okay, Sungie.”

Jisung doesn’t quite know what happens next – it’s like waking up out of sleep paralysis, or recovering from a bad cold: his mind brought back down to earth, back into his body, and suddenly he can see everything, feel everything.

The emotion hits the back of his nose first, then down to his throat, burning through his windpipe like a breath of summer, until it sears upwards to his eyes, and Jisung starts crying again. He buries his face in Minho’s shoulder, feels the tears scald his face, before disappearing into the white fabric.

Vaguely, he registers the older boy rubbing his back. Everything is hitting him in full force, the sadness and the relief and the shame and the hope. He doesn’t know how long he’s just sitting there, sobbing into Minho’s shoulder, holding onto his sleeve like a lifeline.

 _Get it together._ Jisung finally takes a deep breath to steel himself, still hiccupping.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go for your concert, hyung.”

Again, that thing happens with Minho, where a freight train of emotions rushes through his eyes and disappears, and he lets out a breathy laugh. “Is that what this is about?”

The younger boy wipes his eyes, and shakes his head and shrugs at the same time. _No. Maybe. A little._

The dancer settles on the couch next to him, head resting on his hand. His other hand is still holding Jisung’s, doing a familiar, comforting little circling movement. “Can you talk about it?”

It’s not said like a challenge, or a dismissal – it’s just honest, like the rest of Minho is. Like he’s always been, from the moment Jisung met him.

From the moment they’d met, even before they warmed up to each other, Minho had been an open book, the same way Jisung had been for him. The truths he told to Minho were the same ones he told himself – until this happened.

So Jisung talks. He tells Minho everything, about meeting Hyunjin at the party, about lying to him, about Chan and Changbin and everything that happened tonight.

Minho doesn’t stop him, not even when Jisung talks about Hyunjin, as though he already knows. He just asks a few questions every now and then, watching and listening.

“And he said the company said what?” Minho frowns slightly.

“That they didn’t want to sign me. Only Chan and Changbin,” Jisung blows his nose into a tissue. _Fuck_ , it sinks in harder the more he thinks about it.

“What did he say after that? Chan?”

“He said,” Jisung gestures helplessly. “He said he told them no.”

Minho nods slowly. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jisung lets out a despairing laugh, chucking the tissue into the growing pile on the rickety coffee table. “It’s just-…we’ve been doing this for s-so long, and-…” he doesn’t know how to put it into words, all the nights he’d wander into Chan’s room back when they lived together, watching him killing himself producing for small companies just to scrape together some experience in this oversaturated breakneck industry, forced to watch his friends either succeed or give up one by one. The younger boy chokes over his words at the thought of it. “I don’t _want_ him to say no.”

It sounds ridiculous even to Jisung – anyone else would’ve given up on him at this point, gotten frustrated and left the conversation, but Minho just nods, humming sympathetically and opening his arms.

Jisung sniffs, leaning against him, closing his eyes, stuttering through his sobs. “It’s not f-fair, hyung,” he forces the words out, voice wrecked. “That I c-can’t be enough.”

It’s both a relief and a punishment to finally say it out loud, like he’s peeling himself back, past the layers of skin and muscle and bone to reach his heart. And maybe that’s just it.

Maybe he’s still an immature, incompetent child, just holding everyone back, frustrating everyone, no matter how much he hates and tries to forget that part of him.

Despite everything he’s done to prove to everyone, including himself, that he’s not the kid he used to be, nothing’s changed.

Then Minho speaks up, shaking up Jisung’s convoluted thoughts.

“Sungie-ah, do you trust Chan?”

The younger boy stills, having to think about it for the first time in his life. “Yeah?”

“He probably thought about this decision before he made it, don’t you think?” Minho cards his fingers through Jisung’s hair, soothing through the tangles. “He didn’t say no to that company because he pitied you, or felt guilty of anything – he said no because he thinks 3RACHA needs you.”

Jisung holds onto Minho’s other hand, head still resting against the plane of the other man’s shoulder, staring at nothing in particular.

_How do you know?_

“You know, Sungie,” the dancer chuckles, still petting Jisung’s hair. “When I got rejected from my third crew audition, I used to think about me, five or ten years in the future, looking back at this moment in time, and think about what I’d say to myself. And I know one day…you’re going to think back to this moment, and be really, really proud of yourself for making it, Sungie.”

The younger boy straightens up, looking at Minho, who always seems so self-assured and disciplined, whom he can’t ever imagine getting rejected by any dance crew in South Korea, and tries to smile, wiping his eyes. “I wish I believed in me as much as you did, hyung.”

“Catch up, then,” Minho grins, sitting up properly. There are marks on his shoulder sleeve, and Jisung touches the corner of his eyes, finding a faint brown smudge. Ah, his makeup must’ve run.

“Ah, sorry about your shirt, hyung,” he says, hastily grabbing a tissue and trying to dab the marks off. A _white_ shirt, too, his mom would’ve killed him.

“It’s okay, I’m probably not going to touch this shirt for a long time,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to think about this clusterfuck of a performance any more than I need to.”

“How was the concert, hyung?” Jisung leans in, trying to clean Minho’s shirt, glad for the change of topic. Things are by no means resolved, of course, but it’s enough to be able to just talk to Minho again. “Were things okay?”

“It was fine, some of the kids got confused with the new formation a couple of times but we managed to play it off, I don’t think the audience noticed,” the dancer sighs. “They were breaking out the beer afterwards when I got Jimin's text.”

 _Ah,_ so Minho was the one Jimin texted. Jisung hangs his head. “Sorry you had to leave your party early, hyung.”

“Don’t be, it’s good you talked about what happened tonight to someone,” Minho smiles. “Anyway, Jimin told me she bought you ice cream, and as you know I always accept payment in Ben and Jerry’s.”

Jisung laughs, turning around to grab his bag, before he remembers something, and his heart leaps. “Oh, hyung!”

“Hmm?”

Jisung whirls back around, bouquet in both hands, before thrusting it towards the older man sheepishly.

Minho stills, looking from the flowers to Jisung, then back again.

“This is for you. For the concert,” he says shyly, voice still a little sore and eyes puffy. “Sorry it looks a little uhm, cried on,” Jisung picks at a petal. “Oof,” he says, when it falls off, glancing up guiltily.

All it takes is a split second, and suddenly Jisung feels like he’s snared, like his soul is holding its breath, caught in Minho’s deep, heavy gaze. And then it’s like the first time they’re meeting all over again, when Jisung had looked straight into Minho’s eyes and wondered, fingers itching to write a song, what magic this boy had concealed inside of him.

And suddenly the urge hits him, deep in his chest and rippling outwards, to kiss Lee Minho.

Panic sweeps in as fast as the euphoria does – _you’re not thinking straight. You’ve just been through one hell of a night and you’re just dumping all your emotions on Minho, because he’s been so nice to you. He doesn’t deserve this._

“Hyung,” he says, needing to stop and clear his throat. His mouth moves on autopilot, so he surprises even himself with what he says next.

“I need to go home for a while.”

As soon as that sentence leaves his lips, he realises he doesn’t know where that thought even came from – _really_? Something is _happening_ right now he can’t run away from, and either way, he’s nowhere near the right state of mind to be seen by his parents.

Minho blinks, withdrawing slightly, looking away, then back again. It makes Jisung feel all torn up inside, for some reason. His hands are folded on his lap. “Alright.”

Jisung wants to say something. Like a _thank you_ , or an _I’m sorry_ , or just a _I like you, hyung_.

_I like you a lot. I like you so much and I’m scared that telling you now will make you feel like you have to say you like me too._

“Okay,” the dancer gets up, then, hands loose at his sides, and he hesitates for a moment. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow morning, maybe,” Jisung fiddles with his sleeve. He feels the burning urge inside of him to say _something_ , something that can adequately express what he’s feeling right now.

“Hyung-…you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my life, you know that, right?”

Minho just looks at him, lifting his bag up, and again, it’s that same look, the night when Jisung told him about his crush on Hyunjin, and when Jisung stayed up to make him dinner after practice. He looks like he wants to say something, then thinks better of it, so what leaves his lips eventually sounds tired and forced. “Thank you, Sungie.”

Then he heads down the narrow corridor to this room, and the door clicks shut quietly, leaving Jisung sitting alone in the living room, holding a dying bouquet.

*

Morning creeps upon them slowly, like it’s afraid of breaking the silence.

The sky’s barely alight when Jisung pads quietly down the corridor in his socks, bag over his shoulder, and crouches by Minho’s door.

Carefully, he arranges the flowers in the bouquet one last time, before balancing it against the wall beside the door. He’d spritzed them last night before showering and going to bed, so though the tulip heads are still drooping slightly, they hold on steadfastly.

Standing, he tightens his grip on his bag, taking a long look around the apartment. It takes a while, so the sun's rays are creeping into the living room by the time he, hesitantly, turns away, heading out the main door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope that this did not cause you pain ! :"") it was difficult writing this but we will get to the next bit soon and things will get better ;;
> 
> wherever you guys are in your life right now, stay strong and i'm here for you :)
> 
> let's be friends! ;u;  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (locked for qrts but i will accept your follow!!) ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) 


	8. 008.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho blinks, withdrawing slightly, looking away, then back again. It makes Jisung feel all torn up inside, for some reason. His hands are folded on his lap. “Alright.”
> 
> Jisung wants to say something. Like a _thank you_ , or an _I’m sorry_ , or just an _I like you, hyung._
> 
> _I like you a lot. I like you so much and I’m scared that telling you now will make you feel like you have to say you like me too._

“Jisungie?”

Jisung stands in the doorway, blinking, then checking the door number to make sure he hadn’t come to the wrong house. “Younghyun-hyung? What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t say you were coming home this weekend,” his cousin grins, opening the door wider. “I’m just helping out, your mom says she needs to assemble a new shelf and your dad’s been busy with work.”

“Jisung-ah!” his mother walks out of the kitchen, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of her eyes when she smiles, pulling him into a big hug. Vaguely, Jisung wonders if she’s always been this tiny. To Younghyun, she says: “This little rascal told me last night he was going to come home,” she pinches Jisung’s cheeks. “At 2am! Why weren’t you sleeping?”

“Sorry, mom,” Jisung toes off his shoes, stepping into the house, feeling genuinely guilty. “And…sorry you had to come over and help, hyung, I was supposed to do that last weekend.”

“Don’t worry about it, Auntie wanted to see Ahyeon again too, and she’s coming over for brunch later,” Younghyun smiles.

“ _He’s going to propose soon_ ,” Jisung’s mother stage whispers, before heading back to the kitchen, looking very pleased with herself.

Jisung gasps, eyes widening. “ _You’re going to propose to Ahyeon?”_

“Shh, don’t make a big deal out of it,” Younghyun laughs, dragging him into the old apartment and closing the door. “Yeah, I figured since she’s pretty much part of the family, and we’ve been talking about it for a while – maybe it’s just time, you know?”

“Wow,” Jisung drops his bag by the dining table, unable to wrap his mind around it, as his cousin heads off. “That’s - _wow_ , hyung.”

It’s strange to think about it – here he is, struggling through his first love and university, and his cousin’s about to get _married_. Younghyun and Ahyeon’s relationship has had its fair share of ups and downs, which made Jisung surprised to find out that she would be _the one_.

He expects it to make him feel smaller, but things are different here at home, here where his mother and cousin have no idea what just happened last night, here where he can just let go and stop pretending he’s someone better than he is.

“Jisung-ah!” Younghyun calls from his bedroom, then, and emerges, lugging out a cardboard box taller than himself. “Want to help with this shelf?”

"Can I say no?"

His cousin rolls his eyes, nudging Jisung’s forehead with his knuckle once they’re both dragging the box into the living room. “You haven’t changed a bit, Sungie.”

*

It’s nice, in some strange way, just sitting on the floor in the living room poring over a bag of screws and a stack of planks, and arguing over the Ikea instructions with Younghyun, while his mother capitalises on their captivity to force feed them fruits and homemade snacks.

By late morning, they’ve got about half a shelf done, and collectively decimated an orchard’s worth of pear slices and honey rice puffs. Jisung leans against the couch, entering a fruit coma, as he squints at a bolt and nut. It kind of looks like the part on page 8…but also the part on page 3, which might mean they used the wrong screw for the part on page 3, which might mean they need to undo the parts on page 4, 5, 6 and 7…

“Hyung,” he finds himself saying before he realises it. “How did you know?”

Younghyun looks up from where he’s working a screwdriver in, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Know what?” He asks, before looking at the instructions. “Hey, can you pass me that screw?”

Jisung scoots over, handing Younghyun the parts. “You know. How did you know…everything.”

“You mean Ahyeon?”

“Is Ahyeon your everything?” Jisung says cheekily, before ducking away when Younghyun chucks the instruction booklet at him. “Okay sorry, I just meant – you know. Life. Doing music and dating Ahyeon and…everything.”

“It sounds like a lot when you say it like that, but really, it’s not,” the older man fits another plank of wood in. “And we never really know, do we?”

Jisung sighs – he supposes it’s his fault that all his friends are songwriters. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Younghyun grunts, trying to force a screw in. “You go in just as blind as everyone else does. Can you help me find the screw for this part?”

The younger boy sits on his heels, miserably sifting through metal until he finds it and hands it over. “But what if it turns out bad? What if…you realise you can’t do music, or…or it turns out someone you really loved just…you know, like…”

Younghyun raises a brow. “You mean, like Yerin? You can say her name, you know.”

Jisung laughs nervously, fiddling with a screwdriver. “I mean, wasn’t there a point when you thought that…you could love her forever?”

His cousin pauses, eyeing him for a while, then. “Did something happen, Sungie?”

The younger boy sinks downwards a little. “Uhm. Maybe?”

Younghyun nods, before holding out his hand, and Jisung passes him another screw, still waiting anxiously. “Of course there was a time when I thought that.”

“But how do you move on from something like that?” Jisung holds onto a plank of wood tight, wondering if he’s overstepping a boundary here. “If it’s something you thought was _right_ for so long, and it turns out…that you were wrong. How do you know where to go?”

The older man carefully slots another layer of the shelf in, before looking at Jisung. “Say that last part again?”

Jisung blinks. “How you know where to go?”

“No, before that.”

The younger boy tries to think. “That…you were wrong?”

Younghyun smiles. “Neither of us were wrong, Sungie.”

“But…then why did it stop…?” Jisung wrings the screwdriver in his hands. His family doesn’t like talking about Yerin, after what she did, and this is the first time he’s really _asking_ Younghyun about it.

Younghyun seems to think about this for a while, one hand propped on the half-built shelf. “How do I put this? You know how these days…you kids like to talk about moving on, forgetting past relationships and finding someone better.”

Resisting the urge to drop the _ok boomer_ , Jisung nods. “Uh huh?”

“Sometimes it isn’t about forgetting and cutting off. Sometimes it’s about looking back on everything that’s happened, the good and the bad things, and taking them with you as you continue living,” Younghyun cups his hands unconsciously as he talks, like the memories are swimming in the palm of his hands, seeping out from between his fingers.

“Does that mean…you still think of Yerin sometimes?”

“Of course I do, Jisung.”

“But isn’t that painful?” Jisung leans forward, almost whispering. “Wouldn’t it hurt Ahyeon, if she knew?”

“Yes, and no. She knows, and I know she thinks about her ex-boyfriend sometimes too. Cons of being a songwriter,” Younghyun shrugs. “I know it’s confusing, but remembering a time in your life isn’t the same as wanting to go back to it, Jisung.”

The younger boy nods slowly, just as the doorbell rings, and a melodic voice rings through the front door – Jisung’s mother makes her way cheerily through the living room to get to the door. “Ahyeonnie, you’re early!”

“Just think of that part of your life like…like a movie,” Younghyun explains carefully as he gets to his feet. “It had its happy moments and its sad moments, but the most important thing is, it’s over,” he dusts his hands. “And the bad times may have hurt, but the good times…they were beautiful.”

*

The shelf gets done sometime after brunch, after which Younghyun and Ahyeon leave to meet some friends, and Jisung gets chased to take a shower and go to bed by his mother, who (rightfully, but Jisung will never admit it) claims that Jisung probably didn’t sleep at all last night and needs to rest when he’s home.

He lies awake in the cool, artificial darkness, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids but unable to fall asleep. All he can think about is Hyunjin, Chan and Changbin, and…Minho.

_How do you feel about Minho?_

Of course he likes Minho. Of course he’s had silly little fantasies about what it’d be like to hold his hand, kiss him, fall asleep by his side. But _who wouldn’t_? Who wouldn’t fall for Minho, and his gorgeous eyes, his cute soap bubble laughter, the way his face scrunches up when he’s trying to open a jar, the way he dances while singing trot songs at the noraebang…

Lovely, untouchable Minho.

Jisung remembers that night, crystal clear, back when he was still in his second year of high school, wearing that janky pair of spectacles and untidy black hair that stuck up no matter how much he tried to comb it down, back when he didn’t know how to smile in a way that hid his bunny teeth.

It was the night of another one of Minho’s performances, providing backup at the fanmeeting of an idol group that doesn’t exist anymore, and Jisung had been waiting outside the backstage exit, alone in a sparse handful of people, texting Chan about the performance. He’d stayed back in school that day to study for a test, so he’s still in his high school uniform under a puffy brown hand-me-down padded jacket, backpack on his shoulders, carrying a little bunch of flowers.

Roses. The first and the last time he’d ever brought roses.

A handful of the dancers had been standing outside, taking a smoke break, and they glance over at where Jisung’s standing a couple of times. One of the girls can’t stop giggling, leaning over onto one of the boys for support. Awkwardly, Jisung’d inched back, trying to focus on sending Chan as many ugly pictures of Changbin as possible.

He’s relieved when the last dancer stubs out their cigarette, and they start heading back up the steps to the rusty doorway – it means their debrief is going to be over soon, and Minho can come out. The first guy, one of those who’d been glancing over just now, pushes open the door and walks right in.

On any other night, if there’d been more people outside, making more noise, if the other dancers had been talking a little louder, if Jisung had been standing in the carpark with the smokers instead of closer to the exit by himself, this would’ve played out differently. But tonight, the dancer’s voice punches through the night air, loud and clear.

“Lee Minho! Your stalker is here!”

Laughter and catcalls burst out from within, reverberating through the night even after the door swings shut with a rusty _clank_ , as Jisung stands outside, flowers clutched to his chest, vaguely aware that other people are staring at him.

He learns two things that night. One, that all dancers except Felix and Minho are fucking snakes, and two, that Minho is better than him.

It isn’t so much the shame that makes him wait at the nearest train station or café instead every time after that. Of course he’s embarrassed, but all he can think about is how much worse it must have been for Minho.

It’s the guilt that makes him brand himself as Minho’s harmless, quirky little dongsaeng to all the dancer’s friends he happens to meet after that, just an annoying kid brother who’s a little funny and stupid, so he supposes it’s his fault he can’t quite see himself as anything else, now.

Jisung sighs, unlocking his phone and scrolling through his contacts, reluctantly thinking through what he’s about to do, before squeezing his eyes shut and hitting the call button.

It rings once, twice, thrice, and Jisung’s this close to chickening out when the metallic ringtone ends. “Sungie?”

Jisung clears his throat. “Felix?”

The other boy yawns, and there’s the rustle of sheets – he must just be getting up. “Hang on,” he whispers sleepily. “I’m leaving the room.”

 _Right_ , he’s probably with Changbin. Jisung’s throat goes a little dry at the prospect of what he’s about to ask next. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Ah, you sound so formal,” Felix scoffs. There’s a clink of ceramic, probably as he gets himself a cup of water in the kitchen. “Is something up?”

The greeting sounds honest enough, so Changbin probably didn’t tell him what Chan said yet. Jisung curls up in bed, phone glued to his ear, and rubs a hand in his eyes, sighing. “’Lix, I think…I think I like Minho.”

There’s a long pause at the other end. Jisung can almost see Felix now, leaning against Changbin’s thousand dollar granite countertop, forehead scrunched in confusion. “Okay, and?”

Jisung blinks. “And…” Hell, he doesn’t even know where to _start_. “And he’s my best friend?”

Felix laughs, then, a colourful little sound. Gosh, what Jisung would give to not sound like a beached whale when he laughs. “Sungie- _ah_ , don’t kid yourself. You look at him like he hung the stars in the sky.”

Jisung puts his face in his hands. _Maybe I was a little obvious_. “Okay, maybe. How does that discredit anything I said?”

“The _friends_ ship has sailed, Sungie,” it’s so like Felix to pretend he can’t speak Korean, then whip out expressions like these to kick Jisung when he’s down. “You guys are many things. _Best friends_ is just one of them. So what’s the issue, then?”

“What-…what’s the _issue_?” Jisung wheezes.

There’s a crunching sound. Felix is probably eating an apple or something, unconcerned. “What’s holding you back? Confess to him! Fall in love! Get married!”

“Felix,” Jisung says, half into his pillow. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s the Korean reincarnation of Adonis, and I’m a prepubescent pimple. I mean, so what if I can spit straight bars hotter than your boyfriend could ever dream of?”

“Bold words from the single kid,” Felix threatens.

“The bottom line is, the only way I’m getting into his league is through full body plastic surgery,” Jisung rolls over onto his back, sighing dramatically at the ceiling. “You’re rich, Lixie. Sponsor me.”

“Listen, Jisung, I don’t know where you’re getting this idea that you’re the Platonic standard of ugly, so this might come as a shock to you, hold onto something – you’re not hideous. The most terrifying thing about you is that used sock you snuck into Changbin's new MCM bag because he wouldn't let you eat another piece of cheesecake at Jimin's birthday party.”

“You’re just saying that because you think Changbin’s hot when he’s mad,” Jisung says glumly.

“Seriously, though, what’s the deal? You make awful decisions every day.”

“Minho can’t be an awful decision!” Jisung cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “Felix, what if I confess and he doesn’t like me, and things get weird after that? _Fuck_ , that can’t happen,” just the thought of not being able to talk to Minho, _forever_ , is making him anxious. “What if someone finds out, and his friends end up knowing someone like me _confessed_ to him? What if I can’t talk to you anymore, or he doesn’t talk to you anymore, and one day I just never see him again-…”

“Jisung,” Felix interjects. “Calm down.”

The other boy sits up in his bed, drawing his blanket around him so he’s bundled in. “Sorry,” he mumbles, voice muffled.

“Did Changbin ever tell you about how we got together?”

Jisung sits in silence for a moment, wondering what this is about. “He asked you out at Chan’s birthday party, right?”

“Did he tell you I said no?”

The other boy opens his mouth, then closes it. “No. But that explains a lot of his songs,” Jisung shakes his head. “You said _no_? But you were crazy about him!”

“I was,” Felix says it matter-of-factly. “But I was scared. Chan was my only connection to Korea and I was scared that if things screwed up between Changbin and I, it’d either mess up my friendship with Chan or Changbin’s career with him, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

The stark honesty of Felix’s statement laid bare like that makes Jisung think twice – the concept of their relationship being vulnerable like that is so _strange_. “Well…what made you change your mind?”

“Well…you called me a couple of days after that, and told me Changbin didn’t want to come out of the studio,” Felix says slowly, and Jisung pries through his foggy memories, trying to remember. “I guess you didn’t know Changbin confessed already, and you had this long, elaborate plan for me to drag him out for dinner so I could tell him how I felt…and it was funny, you know. Seeing someone else have this much confidence in our relationship working out. It was like...you really and honestly wanted to get us together, because you believed we'd be happier that way.”

“That’s what made you say yes?” Jisung pops out of his blanket cocoon. “Me?”

There’s a rustle of fabric as Felix shrugs. “Yeah. So stop complaining when we make out, because technically it’s your fault.”

“ _Damn_ it.”

“Either way, Sungie, believe me when I say…I don’t know everything about Minho, but even a fool can tell that you’re special to him. You might not have everything figured out on your end yet, but don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s going to be okay.”

Jisung sighs. “I just feel like…I don’t even know who I am now. I’ve just got all these problems, I don’t even know if I’m ready for a relationship…I don’t deserve him.”

Felix lets out that magical little laugh again, voice getting a little softer. “Sungie, no one _deserves_ each other. If we did, it wouldn’t be love.”

A weary smile tugs at the other boy’s lips, before he lets out a breathy laugh, reaching over to tug his lyrics notebook and pencil from his bag. “I’m writing that line down. Twinnie copyright. Don’t let Changbin use it.”

Felix laughs again as Jisung opens his book, pausing when he sees which page he’d opened to – it’s the list of names he’d written down with Minho, that night he’d told him about his soulmate.

 _So much for soulmates_ , he scoffs inwardly _._ He scratches the list out with his pen, including the _Hwang Hyunjin_ , circled with hearts. _Younghyun was right – that visit to the teacher was just bullshit._

“Thanks for talking to me,” Jisung mumbles, pen scribbling on the rough paper. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you let me know how it goes~”

“How what goes?”

Felix chuckles. “Your confession to Minho, duh.”

“Right,” Jisung’s throat goes dry. _I’m really going to do this. I’m going to tell Lee Minho I like him_. “Thanks, Lix.”

*

“You’re staying for dinner, right?”

Reluctantly, Jisung hoists his bag a little higher. “Uhm. Sorry, mom, I just-…”

“Ah, _stay_ , I cooked your favourite,” his mother protests, corralling him to the table. “It’s always so quiet at home, with your father working, after your hyung moved out, and you’re always in school…”

“Okay, okay,” Jisung sets his bag down and his phone on the table, successfully coerced into staying (it also helps that the _jjamppong_ smells absolutely divine). “Sorry I can’t come home more often, mom.”

His mother quickly scoots her chair over to the corner of the old table beside him, before actively loading his bowl with a mountain of meat and vegetables. “I packed more side dishes that you can bring back and share with your roommate, they’re in the fridge now. And I just bought more fruit this morning, more pears and tangerines, so you can bring those too,” she pinches Jisung’s cheeks, now full of food. “Do you feel guilty yet?”

Jisung lets out a short chuckle, nodding exasperatedly. And _she_ wonders where he learnt smack talk from.

“Bring back my Tupperwares, they’re always stuck at your apartment,” his mother nags, just as someone texts Jisung, and his phone screen lights up. “Who’s that?”

“Ah, it’s Felix, I’ll reply him after dinner,” Jisung says, swiping the message away. No need for his mother to catch on to anything about him _liking_ anyone, no sir – she’d never let him live it down.

“This boy is Felix?” his mother squints at his phone. She’s looking at the lock screen wallpaper – Jisung’s heart clenches in a funny little way. It’s Minho, that time he was messing around with funny filters on Jisung’s phone, snapped a selfie of the two of them and set it as Jisung’s lock screen, declaring that it was an improvement.

“He looks like that kid, when you were younger – I know him, don’t I?”

The boy sighs, focusing on stuffing his face. His mother always does this, saying his friends look familiar and asking if they’re the ones he knew as a child. He knows it’s her way of trying to stay connected to him, though – _I should probably tell her more about the friends I have now._

“No, this is my roommate mom,” Jisung mumbles. _He also happens to be the one I’m trying to confess to but don’t have the balls to._ “I only met him a couple of years ago.”

“No, no, I definitely know him!” his mother insists, pointing, and Jisung nods along, wincing when he gets hit. “Yah, how could you doubt me, little rascal? What’s his name…like the actor, the drama that goes like: _almost paradise~_ , right?”

 _Huh,_ Jisung thinks, pausing then. _That almost sounds like…_

His mother lights up, then, smiling from ear to ear. “ _Ah_ , the charming little boy with the laugh. Lee Minho, right?”

Jisung chokes on his rice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stan talent stream day6 zombie !!
> 
> comments and kudos and jazz hands will be much appreciated! now that (i'm pretty sure) all of yall know how it's Going to Go now, i'm highkey interested to hear your thoughts ;;
> 
> thank you for reading! 
> 
> let's be friends! ;u;  
> personal twt: @goldengyeom   
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (trying out an unlocked account for a week!) 


	9. 009.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, this is my roommate mom,” Jisung mumbles. _He also happens to be the one I’m trying to confess to but don’t have the balls to._ “I only met him a couple of years ago.”
> 
> “No, no, I definitely know him!” his mother insists, pointing, and Jisung nods along, wincing when he gets hit. “Yah, how could you doubt me, little rascal? What’s his name…like the actor, the drama that goes like: _almost paradise~_ , right?”
> 
>  _Huh_ , Jisung thinks, pausing then. _That almost sounds like…_
> 
> His mother lights up, then, smiling from ear to ear. “Ah, the charming little boy with the laugh. Lee Minho, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [afraid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9pCZqXwKUQ) \- day6, the book of us: the demon

There’s some inexplicable, vestigial instinct in every small child's head that, upon witnessing anything even remotely taller than them, instigates the thought _I have to climb it_.

And when you’re three years old, lots of things are taller than you. Jisung can testify to this.

He’s not even thinking of climbing anything when he patters down the sloped pavement near the open-air carpark at the park, whole body (it’s not a very big body to begin with) tilted backwards slightly so he doesn’t trip and start rolling down.

Jisung is on a mission. He’s hiding from his hyung, who always runs faster than him, and cheats at hide and seek by counting too fast because he thinks Jisung’s too dumb to know numbers.

They’re at a newer, quieter stretch of the park, with a couple of the other kids from the apartment complex. Jisung surveys the expanse of green and pavement in front of him – there’s a pavilion up ahead, and a thicket of trees, but that’s too predictable.

He swerves, pattering over to the carpark, before squatting down behind the huge wheel of a pickup truck, rubbing his nose.

That’s when he spies _it_.

The gleaming blue bulk of the monstrous custom Harley-Davidson catches the sunlight where it stands some distance away in the bike parking lot, polished like it’s fresh out of a showroom. It’s _beautiful_.

Jisung waddles closer, still hidden behind the truck, to get a better look. He _loves_ bikes, like he’d loved dinosaurs last year, and would go on to love Tamagotchis the next year.

Peering out to make sure his brother is nowhere near (he’s probably playing with the other kids, anyway), Jisung scuttles out towards the bike, hesitantly reaching up to touch it, before glancing around guiltily.

The metal body feels warm under his tiny hand, like it’s thrumming with energy.

 _Climb it_ , his brain says.

 _What, no, that’s bad,_ Jisung says back, but reluctantly.

 _It’s gonna be so cool_ , his brain eggs him on. _Mom’s not here anyway. Hyung is far away._

Before he gets another rational thought in, he’s halfway up the bike, shimmying carefully onto the warm black seat. _Wow_. He tries to reach for the handlebars, but they’re too far away, so he contents himself just sitting there, making motorbike noises.

He’s ecstatic for a good two seconds, before there’s the sound of distant footsteps, thumping on the pavement behind the slope.

 _Uh oh_. Looks like he spoke too soon.

Jisung swings his foot over to try to get down, little sandal knocking the back of the bike.

What happens next is a series of unfortunate events, kind of like a forecast for the rest of Jisung’s life. The kickstand malfunctions, an astonishing feat for a bike this well-maintained, and the bike starts to tilt to one side. Panicking, Jisung drops down, stumbling and falling.

This causes the bulk of the huge motorcycle to come crashing down right on top of him, trapping him from his waist down.

At the age of nineteen, this will be all Jisung remembers of the incident – staring up at the blue sky, bawling his lungs out, head hurting where it hit the asphalt and pain spiking through his legs.

He won’t remember the sound of the footsteps from the pavement getting louder, the big, worried eyes on the face of the strange boy in a white Pororo shirt that comes running into view, the way he turns back and starts shouting for his father.

“ _Appa_! Help, there’s an accident here!”

Jisung starts crying louder, convinced he’s going to die, until the boy hurries around the fallen bike, trying, with all his might, to move it. “Don’t worry, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

 _It’s okay_. He’ll remember that too, maybe, deep down, the same way he’ll remember the smell of his baby soap, and his first time eating ice cream.

The same way he’ll remember the nice, comforting hug after getting the bike lifted off him, and wiping all his tears on a white shirt until he feels better.

He’ll start running again about 15 minutes after that, dragging this new boy along with him to find snails. They’ll be watched by the boy’s father, pleasantly confused at how Jisung managed to get escape that life-threatening situation with little to no serious permanent injuries (kind of like a forecast for the rest of Jisung’s life).

“What’s your name, hyung?” Jisung asks later, as they crouch by a tree, still holding hands, to observe a trail of big ants. “My name is Han Jisung.”

The older boy looks at him, slightly bemused by the boldness of this tiny kid, letting out a little laugh that sounds like bathtime soap bubbles. “I’m Lee Minho.”

*

Jisung’s train of thought screeches to an unglamorous halt, crashing headlong into the brick wall that is this earth-shattering revelation. Amidst chugging down cold barley tea, while his mother thumps his back, enjoying her youngest son’s suffering a little too much, he manages to choke out: “ _How do you know?”_

“I told you I know!” His mother beams smugly. “Ah, you said he’s your roommate? What a funny coincidence – and you didn’t _know_?”

“Didn’t know _what_?”

His mother stands and hurries over to the television, then, loose black pants flapping behind her, before squatting by the TV stand, pulling out a black album cover.

Jisung finally stands, watching her flip through the CDs, talking to herself. “I was _just_ watching this last week, _oh_ , I miss you and your brother so much.”

He sinks into the couch as the television flickers on, straight to an old home video. “But mom, I’ve watched this before.”

“Of course you have! And to think you _don’t remember_ ,” his mother tuts, increasing the volume.

It’s a shaky video of a pavement at some park, on a sunny day. There’s a steadily approaching _patpatpat_ sound of tiny feet against the concrete, and someone appears in the frame, running towards the camera.

Jisung’s heart seizes up, as he leans closer, frowning at the television. Because he should know those bright eyes anywhere, that mischievous giggle – it’s _Minho_ , as a kid, running down the pavement, a _daimyo_ oak leaf flapping in one hand.

Just then, another tiny figure breaks the horizon, coming running down the pavement, much more enthusiastic and stubby – it’s him, holding the same leaf and determinedly pattering down the concrete.

“Oh!” His mother’s voice, much younger and lighter, rings out in the distance, as baby Jisung trips on a loose rock and tumbles down, leaf sailing away.

Watching this, Jisung winces as his past self looks up pitifully, and starts to bawl. _Man_. Baby Jisung really could cry. He wonders, for a moment, why no adults are coming over to help, until Minho scuttles back into the frame.

The older boy leans over, sort of loading Jisung into his arms and lifting him up, and as if on cue, Jisung stops crying, instead looking around nonchalantly while little Minho dusts his knees and clothes.

Gigantic leaf returned to his hand, he giggles, then, starting to run again. Behind the camera, he hears his father scoff. _“What an actor_.”

“Ever since he and his father got you out from under that motorbike, you _kept_ asking to play with him. Even your hyung asked why you didn’t play with him anymore,” his mother laughs, probably enjoying herself more than she has in a while. Jisung, in the meantime, is stunned. “We stayed close by, so we’d set afternoons to come down to the park together.”

_What…?_

“I always told you that you talked so well for your age, and you got bored playing with other 3-year-olds. He was the first child you ever talked to properly,” his mother reminisces. “I wonder if I still have the video of you crying at the airport, _oh_ , that was so bad.”

“The airport…?”

“When we left for Malaysia,” his mother nods to herself, skipping through the video. Jisung catches little freeze frames – him running around a playground with Minho, feeding ice cream to Minho, eating lunch at a picnic with Minho. “Their family came to say goodbye to us, and all you did was cry. All the way, even when we were on the plane, when we moved in to our new house in KL.”

“…why didn’t you tell me this before?” Jisung says, amazed that he’s even able to speak.

His mother shrugs, setting the remote down. “When we were in KL, every day you’d just ask to go back to Korea. It got so bad, your father wished you would just forget about him. So we made sure we never said his name anymore. And after a while, I think you really did forget.”

_Seongsaengnim, why do you talk about him like I’ve already met him?_

“Anyway!” his mother starts chivvying him back to the table, presumably for Round 2 of food. “Now the two of you are roommates, after so long! And it seems like you’re very good friends,” she pours more barley tea for him. “Isn’t that a little like fate?”

 _I see that due to certain circumstances, your soulmate cannot tell you how he feels_.

Jisung sits numbly as his mother stands, heading back into the kitchen to take out more food. Slowly, he sets his chopsticks down, before reaching into his bag, taking out his lyrics notebook.

Again, the book opens right to the page of names from that very first night, now scratched out with passion. Taking up his pen, after a moment’s hesitation, he adds one more name to the bottom of the list, letting the pen linger on the page after the last stroke.

 _Lee Minho_.

*

The train is crowded this early on a Monday morning, but Jisung still manages to get a seat by the door. He leans against the plastic divider before reaching into his bag, pulling out his lyrics notebook, foxed and peeling at the edges.

Instead of flipping through the front pages like he usually does, he skips right to the next blank page on the book, unclipping the mechanical pencil hooked onto the binder.

_The most important thing is, it’s over. And the bad times may have hurt, but the good times…they were beautiful._

He then proceeds to spend the two-hour journey scribbling furiously, crossing things out and writing them again, spaces between lines filled with symbols no one else reading this would ever understand. He plugs in his earphones halfway, tapping out chords on the clunky little keyboard app on his phone and filling them in as he writes.

Five minutes before he has to get off the train, he finally lifts the pencil off the page, reading through the song once, twice through. It’s not exactly there yet, but neither is he, so it’s okay. It’s just a matter of time.

Jisung’s gaze drifts to the top of the page at the end, and he chews the end of the pencil, thinking it over.

Just as the name of his station rings through the subway, he pencils in a title, circling it before closing the book, getting ready to leave.

**_19_ **

**_By Han Jisung_ **

*

The house is silent when he gets home.

He struggles quietly through the door, which isn’t as easy as it sounds when you’re carrying a year’s supply of side dishes and fruit in Tupperware boxes. Not to mention the secret extra package he’d picked up, with great difficulty, on the way home.

Minho’s door is closed, and the flowers are gone, from where Jisung’d left them outside in the little hallway before leaving yesterday morning. The younger boy does a full circuit of the living room and corridor, still lugging along his bags, before realising that they’re gone.

The flowers aren’t here.

Which would be perfectly normal, except that he knows Minho never puts the flowers in his room, no matter who he gets them from. He’ll put them in the bathroom, or the living room, or on the cramped mantelpiece in the corridor, claiming that it’s a waste of money anywhere else.

 _Huh_.

Maybe he threw them away, or, _I don’t know_ , composted them or something. Slightly defeated, Jisung trundles to the kitchen to start trying to cram all the food into the fridge.

Then he stops in the doorway.

Their old, peeling kitchen table is still there, set with the same rickety stools on either side, strangely neat – maybe Jisung’s just used to seeing them pushed aside, like they usually are when he’s in the house.

But what catches his attention is the clear glass vase ( _who knew they owned a vase?_ ) in the centre, flowers pouring out from the top like the tip of a fountain, making the room smell like spring.

Cautiously, he sidles around the table, like he might accidentally break the work of art in front of him just by looking at it. The tulips are already looking happier than they’d been that night, now that they aren’t getting cried on or anything, pink petals flourishing in the early morning light.

Not exactly sure what to make of this, Jisung starts to unpack the side dishes, carefully stacking up the boxes around the flowers like some sort of fortress. _He’s never done this for my flowers before. Did something change?_

The white and pale pink floral forest is all he can look at for a moment, a sphere of tulips, dusted with baby’s breath, magnolias and the occasional peony (buying flowers for someone for three years gives you an education). It’s funny, how this is where it’d started, and this is where it'll end.

 _I’m really going to do this, aren’t I,_ he thinks, reaching out to touch a petal, soft silk between his fingers. Where he stands, the flowers align with the doorway, so the light pouring in through the window on the far end of the apartment casts them in a dreamy peach glow.

Until someone steps into the frame of the doorway, catching all the light.

In the eye of Jisung’s mind, the flowers shift out of focus, instead sharpening in the distance until the silhouette of Minho dawns, standing in the doorway and rubbing his eyes. For a moment, it looks like he’s standing in the midst of the flower cloud, until he walks in, and the light from the kitchen windows falls upon his face.

His eyes are still a little puffy from sleep, hair mussed, face freshly washed, if the droplets soaked into the neckline of his white shirt are anything to go by. A smile tiptoes through his lips, like it doesn’t even know it’s there.

“Morning,” his hands rest on the edge of the table across from Jisung, until the only thing separating them is a table and a spring of flowers (and also the mountain of lunchboxes).

Emotions are screaming through Jisung’s mind, most of them asking himself how ridiculously in denial he’s been all this time. The rollercoaster of feelings he’s been through over the past few days punches right through his chest as he stares at Minho, in all his early morning perfection. _I’m in love with you. I’m stupidly in love with you and have been since forever._

“You just got back?”

“Yeah,” Jisung unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, then. Forcing the tremble out of his hands, he picks up one of the Tupperware boxes. “My mom gave me some more of the radish kimchi you like,” he scans the rest, before quickly picking up another. “And the dried anchovies, and this one has potato salad. She says you should come over one day and she’ll make you lots of food.”

“Sounds good,” Minho smiles, looking over all the boxes of food. Jisung sees his gaze still for a moment, and knows that he’s seen the extra package Jisung’d picked up on the way home, still lying on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t say anything about it, though.

“What’s with the vase, hyung?”

“Oh, this?” Minho touches the flowers between them, not looking at Jisung. “Nothing, I just – I told my mother about your post-concert flowers and she gave me this, during my last visit. She said I should put the flowers somewhere everyone can see.”

“Oh,” Jisung feels oddly nervous at the thought of Minho’s mother knowing about the flowers. It gives him squeamish feelings. “That – that’s nice.”

There’s a moment’s quiet, before the older boy takes a deep breath, straightening up and nudging one of the boxes. “We should probably put these in the fridge.”

“Yeah,” Jisung replies, but for some reason, neither of them move.

It feels silly, just standing here and staring into Minho’s eyes, but the way Jisung’s blood is pounding through his ears makes it hard to hear himself think.

It’s a game of chicken, watching and waiting to see who backs out first, who can care more for the other without saying an outright _I love you_.

Minho’s the one to break the silence first. “What’s the flower for?”

Jisung finally turns away, glancing at the rose on the kitchen counter behind him. The wrapping is a little cheap, some silvery plastic that crinkles loudly when he picks it up, but it still reflects the deep red of the petals.

 _Roses_. He’d never gotten roses after that night with those other dancers. And it’d been tough, finding a florist in the area that opened so early this morning, but Jisung had been determined.

Flower clasped between both hands, he looks up at Minho again, before extending the rose slightly. “It’s for you, hyung.”

The words linger in the air, long after the sound of them has long dissipated. The morning waits, with bated breath, as Minho looks from the flower, to Jisung, then back again, expectations treading carefully between them.

Confession is a terrifying feeling. Every part of Jisung feels vulnerable, like his ribs are peeling back to expose his heart, beating out in the open. But he’s tired of being afraid.

“I like you,” he says plainly. “And – you don’t have to do anything about it if you don’t like me back, but I wanted to tell you, because I didn’t want to regret this moment.

“I’ve liked you for a really, really long time, hyung. And I guess I’ve just never dared to admit it to you, or myself, because I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you. And I’ve still got a lot to figure out, but – but you make me feel like that’s okay. And I want to make you happy, hyung. I want to make you happy for as long as I can.”

Jisung stands there, shoulders rising and falling with every breath, still holding out the rose, stunned at how he managed to say all of that without messing up.

It’s completely different from the confession he’d half-heartedly rehearsed on the way here, slightly lamer and shorter and with a lot more _ands_ than he’d planned for, but he hopes the main bit of it has gotten across.

What’s unnerving him now is the way Minho’s looking at him, perfectly still, like his mind is moving but his body isn’t. Jisung doesn’t really know what it means – is that a no? A maybe?

 _Well_. He knows how much Minho hates being cornered into making decisions, so he backs off, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“Uhm,” Jisung says, lowering the rose. For lack of anything better to do (he hadn’t exactly planned up to this point. Bold of you to assume he’d planned at all), he picks up a box of kimchi. “So, no rush or anything, hyung, just hit me up when you’re ready, I’m just uh, going to put these-…”

He’s midway through a turn, already mentally giving himself consolatory back pats, _time to break into that tub of ice cream Jimin noona gave me_ , when he feels a hand on his shoulder, tugging him back. Out of nerves, he ends up overspinning and almost toppling over, but it doesn’t matter, because Minho pulls him back up and across the table, before kissing him.

Jisung’s had lots of dreams about kissing Minho. Most of them are relatively everyday, like over one of their Music Bank marathon dinners, or in the morning when they’re still in bed, or – and this might be particularly racy – in the dark, at a movie theatre, during some action movie that’ll be loud enough to cover up any sounds they make. He has a moment of silence for those fantasies, because he’s come to the realisation that they’ll now never be able to live up to the real thing.

Minho’s lips are rougher than he’d imagined, and he tastes like toothpaste, and all Jisung can smell is flowers, which is kind of strange until he realises they’re kissing on top of the bouquet between them, tulips and magnolias pressing against his chest.

The other boy laughs when their noses bump accidentally, a warm rush of breath against Jisung’s cheek. His eyes are bright when they part, Jisung still trying to process everything that’s happened.

“Was that your first kiss?”

Jisung unglues his jaw, and tries to look affronted. “Excuse me, I was the talk of the town among the girls back in middle school, I’ll have you know.”

Minho laughs, one hand still clasping the back of Jisung’s head, thumb brushing the side of his face, before pinching one of the younger boy’s cheeks between two fingers.

“So…” Jisung attempts bravely. “Is that a yes?”

Minho takes the flower, still held limply in Jisung’s hand, before giving him a smile that’s more of an eyeroll. “It’s _always_ been a yes, Jisung.”

The producer lets out a nervous laugh, as Minho inspects the rose. “Just like when we were kids, right?”

Minho stops moving for a moment.

When he looks up again, there’s a particularly vulnerable look in his eyes, like he’d been prepared for everything else up to this second, except for this.

“You remember?”

 _So he knows._ Jisung finds a thousand questions hanging off the tip of his tongue at that moment, but only one makes its way out. “That night when I told you about the…the soulmate thing,” he goes quieter. “Why didn’t you tell me, hyung?”

Minho lowers the rose, until it’s just them, staring at each other across a space that’s too small and too much all at once.

“Which part?” he asks. His voice is clouded over but his eyes, as always, are clear and honest. Like two pages of Jisung’s favourite book that change every time he looks at them. “That I just realised I knew you from when we were kids or that I realised we could be soulmates?”

It makes Jisung feel funny, hearing Minho say it out loud. “That night…that was when you realised?”

“When you showed me the photo…I thought I remembered,” the older boy chuckles wryly. “I couldn’t be sure, so I asked my mother the next time I went home. She still has pictures of us together, you know? And I couldn’t believe it…after all this time, huh?”

“But hyung,” Jisung says, feeling kind of dumb. “You watched me make that whole list of people after that, and chase after Hyunjin, and call him my _soulmate_ …why didn’t you tell me…?”

Minho averts his eyes, toying with the flower. What comes next takes longer to say, like he needs time to think everything through.

“You know I like you a lot, right, Jisung?” _Actually I didn’t, but go off hyung_. “You’re the only one who actually listens to what I’m saying or does things for me without _expecting_ anything. I guess I was just scared that telling you would make you feel like you had to say you liked me too. That’s the last thing I want to happen,” he looks up slowly, for a moment and then turning away, like it’s difficult for him to. “I wanted you to choose me.”

Jisung finds himself wanting to hold Minho’s hand, or hug him, anything to let him know: “it’s _always_ been you, hyung,” he mumbles.

The dancer lets out a breathy laugh, stepping back. The familiar, fond look in his eyes is hitting Jisung in all sorts of different ways now. “I guess we’re both just idiots, then.”

The younger boy half-groans, half-laughs, putting his face in his hands. “Felix would have a lot to say about that.”

“So what now?” Minho says, voice suddenly a lot lighter, as he turns around to glance at the clock on the wall.

The younger boy looks up hopefully. “Could I…kiss you again?”

“Mmh, believe me when I say that I would kiss you right now, but I’m not sure if you realise that it’s Monday, and you have class in,” Minho checks his watch. “Twenty minutes, at your university, which is twenty minutes away.”

Jisung looks at the clock on the wall, and gasps, flapping around in a panic for a bit before grabbing a box and running to the fridge.

The next few minutes is a whirlwind of moving around the house, trying to grab everything he needs before he leaves, while Minho watches and laughs, contributing half-assed attempts to help.

Jisung’s one foot out the door before turning back to Minho, who’s leisurely cross-legged on the couch with a bowl of cereal, about to turn on the television.

“S-so,” he stammers out. “Want to have dinner tonight, or something?”

Minho reclines on the couch, managing to balance his cereal bowl perfectly. “I want to have dinner every night, thanks,” he smiles, cheeks colouring slightly. “Sure. Text me when you’re done with class.”

*

Jisung can’t stop smiling, even as he walks into his tutorial late and Eric stifles his laughter while pulling out a chair for him.

_you [11:07am]_  
_:]_

_twinlix [11:08am]  
omg  
j i s u n g ? ? ?  
what does that mean  
resPOND  
HELLO????  
u cant leave me like this  
SJDKLSJDLSADJKLASJD  
dDID YOU????  
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAS ARRIVEDDDDDD
> 
> ahhhh im really hoping you guys like this!! (ah yes. pretty much the reason i wrote the previous 24k words) excited to hear your thoughts on the fic now that almost everything is out in the open uhuhu 
> 
> shoutout to those of you who called it during the chapter @ the club, yall are amazing detectives aslkdjskld i'm so happy you guys are reading this hehe
> 
> comments and kudos are welcome, and we've still got one more chapter to go before The End and angel starts actually focusing on surrender again, please anticipate!
> 
> let's be friends! ;u;  
> personal twt: @goldengyeom   
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (continuing my unlocked acc trial!!) 


	10. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “S-so,” Jisung stammers out. “Want to have dinner tonight, or something?”
> 
> Minho reclines on the couch, managing to balance his cereal bowl perfectly. “I'd like to have dinner every night, thanks,” he smiles, cheeks colouring slightly. “Sure. Text me when you’re done with class.”

Normal studios smell like the cleaning agents they use for the equipment.

Jisung knows this, because Chan and Changbin are both relatively loaded and extremely practical, and therefore 3RACHA’s stuck to this one pretty sensible, clean rental studio since they started working together.

This doesn’t mean that Jisung doesn’t know what shitty studios smell like, because he’s studying music, and SNU, for all their talk about offering a world class music degree, has probably never upgraded the studios since they were first built.

The chairs are flaky and scream when you’re wheeling around, you have a 50/50 chance of plugging in and realising the power point doesn’t work, and good fucking grief. The _smell._ Before Minho moved in, Jisung used to leave used socks and half-eaten food around his room all the time, and even that would be an improvement compared to the school’s studios.

Today, though, Jisung receives an education on what a _real_ studio is supposed to smell like.

It’s like something you’d smell in the lobby of a very expensive hotel, or a convention centre – none of the murky burning plastic smell you’d typically get when the equipment overheats. They have a couch and a coffee table in the room, for heaven’s sake. And a _painting_. Of grapes.

 _Teddy would produce in a studio like this_ , Jisung thinks, slightly awed. He’s only brought back down to earth when Chan gestures as he talks, where he’s sitting on Jisung’s left.

“…love experimenting with different sounds and styles. Each of us do different things best – like how I like EDM, and Changbin and Jisung work with different styles of hip hop.”

The woman sitting across them, still holding the manila folder of their portfolio, nods, looking through the pages slowly. She has really cool hair – it’s kind of like an undercut, but still long, and blond, which sounds ridiculous, but she pulls it off. “And all of you write the lyrics?”

“Oh yeah,” Chan nods. He sounds nervous, but Jisung doesn’t blame him. They really, _really_ don’t want to mess this one up. “There are songs that each of us did on our own, lyrics, composing and arrangement, but for the ones we worked on together, we wrote our own parts.”

The lady with the cool hair stops one a page, before glancing at the man beside her, some guy in his early thirties wrapped up in a thick black hoodie. They both exchange pointed looks, before the man takes the folder, flipping it to let them see. “This song…you wrote it together too?”

Jisung almost topples over as Chan reaches behind him to physically pull his chair forward, until the younger producer almost collides with the expensive coffee table. His heart is thundering in his chest as he glances at the folder, to make sure he’s not reading this wrongly.

He looks up at Chan, who’s smiling at him, one hand on Jisung’s back. Gathering up all the courage inside of him, he clears his throat. “Chan-hyung helped me with the arrangement, but uhm. I wrote and composed that song.”

“ _Nineteen_ ,” the woman reads, looking through the lyrics once more. “It’s such an everyday concept, it’s been done to death, but somehow…” she looks up at him. “You managed to make it special. What gave you the inspiration for it?”

“Well, uhm, I…” Jisung swallows. _How do you put all that into a sentence?_ “Everyone knows what it’s like to have to grow up, right? And – and sometimes we get ashamed of our past. But I felt that sometimes, even if the things that happened a while ago bring us pain, we shouldn’t forget it. And that…growing up doesn’t mean hating who we used to be.”

The two staff exchange glances again, before the man closes the folder. “So. Here at JYP, we focus a lot of our musicality towards a younger audience – you probably already know that. And this,” he points to the folder. “Is exactly the kind of concept we’re looking for to appeal to that audience.”

Jisung feels slightly lightheaded. He’s tempted to pinch himself, to see if this is real.

“Do you think this is a direction the three of you can head towards?”

The youngest glances over at Chan, then at Changbin, measuring the look in their eyes, before turning back, a smile spreading on his face. “Yes. Yeah, I think we can.”

*

If asked, somewhere in the vague future, about where it truly began, Jisung would have an arsenal of moments to choose from.

Like those days camping out in Chan’s room with nothing but an archaic Mac and a lyrics notebook, where he wrote his first song at thirteen. Or performing as three for the first time, on a dusty wooden crate of a stage in a hipster bar that Jisung hadn’t been old enough to patronise. But _this_ …this might just be the one that he remembers forever.

Jisung captures everything in his head, from the screams of the crowd to the bright lights to the rumble of the bass through the sleek black stage, so that it runs like jagged bits of film in his head as they head backstage after the encore, breathing heavy and giddy with euphoria.

It’s just a debut showcase, a predictable set with some not-so-predictable songs, and the audience consists mostly of curious strays from other JYP fandoms, but it’s as beautiful of a beginning as Jisung could ever ask for, and the possibilities stretch endless before their feet.

Amidst the bustle of backstage, Jisung is dragged alongside Changbin into a very aggressive hug by Chan, and they just stay like that for a while, scream-whispering _we did it_ and trying to jump together without falling over.

Of course, that isn’t the end – they’ve still got a meet-and-greet and photo opportunities and a hell of a long debrief before they get to go back to the dorms. But when their manager, a harried thirty-something man that Jisung finds a special joy in bullying, finally dismisses them after all that, Chan pulls him aside.

“Come on, Jimin's waiting outside.”

“Aren’t we going back to the dorms?” Jisung says, confused.

“Manager Choi’s letting us off tonight,” Chan pulls him along. Outside, he sees Changbin already waiting by the car, on his phone. “Anyway, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

Changbin manhandles him into the car before he can hear what Chan says, then, sparking an argument that makes him forget about it.

For a while.

*

“CONGRATULATIONS BABY!!!!!”

All Jisung sees once he’s through the door is a blur of baby blue and denim, before Changbin is flat on the floor, Felix on top of him. He stumbles on, unwilling to find out first-hand if they’re going to start making out there and then.

Jimin, currently hooking her car keys up and heading in, seems to have the same idea. Jisung hurries to keep up, bag bouncing on his shoulder. “Noona, did Minho say if he’d be-…”

“Surprise, hyung!”

Turning towards the source of the noise, Jisung finally sees the spread on the marble dining table – some street food snacks and a cheesecake (a cheesecake!!!) that says _HAPPY DEBUT_ , appended with lots of hearts, in chocolate icing.

_A cheesecake!!!!!_

“We got your favourite!” Jeongin leaps up from where he’s seated at the table, the little heart clip-on in his hair bobbing merrily. The sight makes Jisung smile just about as much as the cheesecake did. “We know you guys are probably tired, so we can save most of the food for tomorrow, but we thought it’d be nice to celebrate everything!”

“Oh, don’t worry, that cheesecake is mine,” Jisung sweeps over, eyeing his prize as he pulls Jeongin into a hug, the younger boy attempting to squirm his way out.

Jisung lets go when he realises the younger boy has stopped moving, and follows his gaze (reluctantly) to where ChangLix are still on the floor, and are, indeed, making out.

“Are they always like this?” Jeongin asks, sounding a little terrified. _Poor kid doesn’t deserve this_ , Jisung thinks. _He just came to Felix’s birthday party two months ago because Minho said it’d be fun._

“You’ll get used to it,” the producer pats his back, before looking around again, hopefully. “Hey, do you know if Minho-…”

“Boys, can you get the futons out of the closet!” Chan shouts from the kitchen. “Stack them by the window and we’ll spread them out after we shower!”

Jisung sighs. _Ah, well_. “You staying over tonight, Innie?”

“Yep,” Jeongin nods nervously. “I hope it’s not too, weird or anything, I mean you guys have been friends for _years_.”

“ _Ah_ , don’t say it like that. Minho-hyung joined our group just a while ago too,” Jisung throws an arm around Jeongin, guiding him along. “Let me show you where the futons are. We’ll leave the exhibitionist couple to do their thing over there.”

The youngest giggles. “You sound like you come here a lot.”

“Yeah, I used to crash here all the time when Chan and Jimin first moved in,” Jisung laughs, pulling Jeongin along by the elbow. “I even have an honorary guest room! It’s where they keep the futons, come on.”

They’re almost at the door when Jimin emerges from the master bedroom, spotting Jeongin. “Oh, Jeongin-ah, could you help me and Chan out with the drinks in the kitchen?”

Scandalised, Jisung is forced to relinquish his armful of cute maknae. He pouts as Jimin walks with Jeongin back to the kitchen. “Sorry Jisung, I’ll get Changbin to help you with the futons!”

“Don’t bother, it’s a lost cause,” Jisung grumbles to himself, taking the one last step to the door. Then he pushes it open. And pauses in the doorway.

Across the room, bathed in warm light, Minho whirls around at the sound, a surprised smile on his face. “Sungie?”

Jisung stays rooted to the ground for a good few seconds, trying to reconnect all his neural pathways correctly, before stepping in. “Hyung,” he says, dumbly. A childish, hopeful part of him wonders if Minho’s going to launch himself across the room and start making out with him on the floor too.

“Jeongin didn’t tell me you guys were back already. I was helping Chan unpack the new pillows they ordered for tonight,” the other man gestures to the neat stack on the wooden floor, putting a pin in that fantasy.

Still, Jisung has a Moment there, watching Minho set his phone down on the low table and push his hair out of his face, before smiling at Jisung and opening his arms. Immediately, instinctively, Jisung starts walking.

All is right with the world again when he’s in Minho’s embrace, a warm, cosy cocoon of safety. “How’d you find the showcase, hyung?”

“I’m so _proud_ of you, Sungie,” the dancer rocks him sideways a little, laughing. Jisung’s _never_ going to get tired of that laugh. “You guys looked amazing.”

“But I looked amazing-est, right?”

“Don’t get cocky,” Minho tweaks the rapper’s nose. “Did you see the cheesecake yet?”

“Was that you?” Jisung says eagerly.

“Jimin and I outvoted Felix. Good thing Chan likes cheese over strawberry,” Minho kisses Jisung’s cheek. “Help me get these out to the living room and we can cut the cake.”

Jisung scrambles to pick up an armful of pillows, making the dancer laugh again, and is almost out of the door when there’s a rustle of plastic, and-…

“Oh, wait!”

He turns around, trying not to fall over. “What?”

Minho faces him again, this time with something held in both hands.

The modest little bundle of pink roses looks like an accessory on Minho, like a prop in a photoshoot, the rouge colour matching his lips, now parted slightly, eyes fixed on him, then darting down. “This is…it’s for you. They didn’t let me bring it into the venue.”

“Oh,” Jisung drops the pillows. One of them almost trips him, as if out of spite. “This is – wow, hyung, uh, _wow_. Thank you.”

“Don’t give me that face,” Minho rolls his eyes, holding out the flowers. “They got a bit squashed on the way back, sorry.”

The producer takes the bunch of flowers, a warmth spreading from his hands through to the rest of his body, and he must have the stupidest smile on his face when he looks up, because his boyfriend is standing there, trying his best not to laugh. “I love you, hyung.”

“I love you more,” Minho pulls him into a hug, which should be nothing new, except he’s kissing him now too, one hand cradling the back of his head. “You made it, Sungie. You’re getting what you always wanted.”

“Oh, _hyung_ ,” Jisung grins, making jazz hands around Minho’s head. “I always had it.”

*

“So _what_ did you say to make Minho hit you that loudly?” Chan raises a brow.

Jisung, who’s sitting like a fat cat at the table, currently on his second slice of cheesecake, makes a peace sign.

“It’s just soulmate things, hyung,” he says, unbothered even as Felix all but migrates over onto Changbin’s lap to start feeding him grapes. “You’ll get it when you’re older.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it's over!
> 
> thank you for joining me on this amazing ride, guys, a year ago this was just an incoherent scribble in my notes app, and it's truly thanks to yall that i was able to finish it! ;u; your comments really helped me to write, thank you especially to those who took the time to comment on every chapter hehe.
> 
> sorry this epilogue chapter took a while, it's been a rough month with work and school T_T and honestly i still struggle sometimes with the fact that woojin's not with stray kids anymore, and sometimes being online (especially on twitter) does anything but help :') 
> 
> i probably won't be starting a new series anytime soon until things get better, but hopefully this means i'll be able to tie up loose ends with the currently existing fics haha! i started the babylix au as per the results of a previous poll hehe, so let me know through a comment here what you guys want to read! :) (finish surrender? more babylix au instalments? or.................finish.......actus....reus......?) 
> 
> thanks for a great journey guys <3 stay home and stay safe!
> 
> let's be friends! ;u;  
> personal twt: @goldengyeom  
> writing twt: @symmetrophobic (continuing my unlocked acc trial!!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] 19.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220100) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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